Everlasting Bonds: Wings of Despair
by Xanedis
Summary: The Valmese have made their first attack onto the continent and the Shepherds are now preparing a counteroffensive. Interpersonal drama ensues to make sure that none of the characters stay the same. Expect drama(again) and dilemmas, as the future children become an important part of this story. Though this story has a major RobinXLucina component, it isn't only about that pairing.
1. Chapter 1

**CONTAINS EXTREME SPOILERS FOR THE GAME FROM THE GET-GO!**

** Off topic: It is ready, the first chapter of my next story. Let's see where this one goes then, shall we.**

**A couple of pointers. 1: I intend to break the conversations people had in game as much as possible, to give you a different kind of experience. I do not intend to make you read stuff in game twice. Some scenes stay the same, but the text and emotional weight will change.**

**2: Morgan hijinks WILL ensue, and she will become a very important character(Let us all hope that she becomes a viewpoint character).**

**3: People that can't die in the game(Frederic or Sumia, for example) may die in this story.**

**Have fun reading. **

**Sincerely, Xanedis**

**_EDIT, 22.8.2013_: Welcome, all of you. There is only one thing I want to say before you start reading this fanfic, and it is incredibly relevant to how this story turns out along the way:**

**_Please keep in mind that the author - that's me - grew up a lot in his skill of writing stuff in English. As the case is such, I request you to look at the story through the eyeglasses of potential, especially since the latter chapters are much better than the first six or so(which aren't bad, the rest of the chapters are simply just better... MUCH BETTER). What is really recognizable while reading this story is my growth as a writer, though in this case it doesn't mean going through a badly written story while doing that._**

**_No. What I want to produce here is quality, and that's what I'll aim for even while lacking some things in the beginning(and honestly, later on too, though it probably isn't all that noticeable)._**

**_Alright. Now enjoy._**

* * *

**Everlasting bonds: Wings of despair**

_The night of revelations_

* * *

It was raining.

Most of the Ylissean force – about two hundred men – was erecting tents, while rest of them guarded the perimeter. Officers were scurrying around in an ordered fashion, making sure that the camp did not become a jumble of wet cloth and rope. It had been a busy day for them, and the pace did not appear to be slowing down. Shepherds would soon start counterattacking the Valmese, and that – the officers supposed – was as deadly business as gambling with a Feroxi warrior.

The earlier attack of the Valmese had come as a surprise, vexing them all and causing winds of unease whirl around the halidom. Hundreds of innocents had been killed, many villages razed, and all the terrors of war had been made apparent. It was one of those times, when the mettle of men was tried and tested, the best survivors lifted up high as examples to them all. The ruler of Ylisse was such a person; he was greeted by the masses as their savior. However, he never accepted the full title of an exalt, and the soldiers knew why. His sister – the exalt Emmeryn - had sacrificed herself to prevent a full scale war between Plegia and Ylisse, and although two years had already passed, some wounds took time to heal. That was doubly true when speaking of the Ylissean people, and apparently their ruler thought that it was not the right time to don the title of an exalt.

Or maybe he did not want to.

As the common soldiers went about their business, a man stood near the perimeter, silent in his thoughts. He was repeatedly going through the events of that day in his mind. There was something there that he wanted to grasp, but as much as he struggled, there was a wall that he could not cross; the wall of ignorance. He did not have enough information.

Sure, the new ruler of Plegia was unbelievably familiar, but what could it mean? Was there another type of Risen – walking dead that plagued their lands - or did the supposedly dead man have a twin brother?

He scrapped the latter thought immediately; it would have been a far too convenient conclusion for him to make. It was better to assume that the man was alive, and a great threat to them all. After all, Validar – whose spitting image the present ruler of Plegia was, not to mention the name – had tried to kill the last exalt. His attempt, however, had been thwarted by a mysterious girl calling herself Marth, who claimed – and the silent man had long since concluded that she spoke the truth – to know how the future would unfold. Their mysterious ally had almost disappeared after that, but some reports claimed that she was traveling around the land of Regna Ferox, challenging – and even more surprisingly. defeating – master warriors that used swords as their choice of weapons.

_She is walking a curious path for someone so young__,_ the man thought, noting to himself that he couldn't have been that much older than her. Maybe it was all the battles that made him feel so experienced. _Add tiredness to that and call it a day__,_ he told himself, and attempted to flare his wet coat as he turned around in the midst of trees. It followed him lazily and set down again, without so much as flapping even once. The man grunted in dissatisfied manner. _This one won't do anymore, _he thought while looking at his old tactician's coat. _I will have to ask them to make me a new one._ And faster he got that new coat, the better; it would not be amusing, if the men's morale fell down, just because his coat didn't flap around like it used to.

He started walking towards his own tent. There was only so much that a moment of pondering could do for him, after all; he couldn't do much without knowing what Validar was scheming.

_Robin._

He felt something course through the skin of his arms, as if something outward tried to force its own will upon him. The feeling spread fast, and covered his whole body in a manner of seconds.

_Hear me, Robin!_

The man found himself increasingly intimidated. What was happening? What was this feeling?

He mustered his willpower to move his hands to cover his ears in hopes of pushing the voice away; it did not help. The mysterious voice started echoing inside his mind, alongside those vibrations that pushed deeper and deeper inside his body.

Then he recognized the voice.

"Vali…dar", he said arduously, feeling something flow inwards from his open mouth. It felt like air, but was vile and disturbing, something that he had never tasted before. It was even worse than the foul air that Risen emanated, but there was something about the two that was the same; the feeling of sickness and stench of death were both prevalent, making the man feel extremely nauseated.

The air crackled before the man as the dark-skinned ruler of Plegia manifested before him. He had a proud and authoritative figure – that could have caused much jealousy in a weaker person– as well as a slender but forceful build. Validar held his long finger at the man called Robin, and exclaimed;

"Why do you not heed his call? Why do you resist?"

Robin could feel those words resonate with… something. He did not know what it was, but it felt… wrong. Dark.

"Could you truly have no recollection?" Validar mused.

Robin could feel his head splitting apart. The pain… It was too much!

"Get out from my mind!" he shouted in rain, unable to notice another approaching persona. There was too much anguish, and the pervading feeling of control squirmed there, near the core of his being.

His words did not baffle Validar, who simply laughed.

"How amusing. But there is something in your demeanor that I need to address" he said smugly. "Did you think that I would allow you take such a tone with me? With your own _father_?"

"My_ what?"_ Robin asked weakly. He felt somehow loose, as if almost drifting outside his body and observing words that someone else was saying. He tried to suppress the feeling, and had some measure of success. A wave of pain assaulted his head again, but this time he was grateful for it.

It let him grasp onto something real, to his body.

"You are of my flesh, and of a sacred blood. Yours is a destiny far beyond the comprehension of mere mortals!"

Validar seemed somehow entranced, imprisoned in some sort of delirium. His eyes, however, held fast on Robin. The excitement was only in his other expressions, but his eyes gazed upon the pray that would not escape. That _could _not escape.

"And you _know _it to be true. Search your heart; face the glory of your destiny!"

"No… Way…" Robin said, huffing from the pain. "Get… Out… NOW!"

The rain started to pass through Validar's figure. Whatever Robin had done, seemed to have worked.

He pushed on to bellow at the sorceress;

"I… WILL… NOT BE… YOUR PAWN!"

Validar's shape started flickering, as if slowly slipping away from existence.

"You ought not to waste your time with these doomed servants of Naga" he said, shaking his head.

Then he was simply gone, no trace of him left.

Robin took hold of a nearby tree, huffing. He was exhausted from exerting his willpower to such extremes.

"Robin? Are you alright? I heard you shouting", a familiar voice said to him. Robin tried to lift his head, but he felt too weak to do so. He wanted desperately to jump into his sleeping bag, and be done with this day.

"It is nothing", he answered quickly. Steps circled him till the person that had spoken to him stood in front of him. He wore a shoulder pad made of steel on his left shoulder, and was clothed in an outfit that made him always ready for battle. His regal figure proved him to be a lord of some sort, although many of his friends simply called him Chrom. He – and his army – had no use for fancy titles.

"I am alright", Robin said to Chrom again, feeling at least slightly better than moments before. His headache had turned into simple waves that caused his head to convulse in pain, but there was none of that feeling of control that had held him in its grip.

Chrom squeezed his friend's shoulder.

"It has been a long day. Get some sleep" he recommended, and Robin nodded feeling more than happy to oblige. Apparently Chrom had not heard the content of his shouts; Robin would have to share it, preferably soon. _But not today,_ he thought tiredly. There was too much to consider, and he wanted to be ready for Chrom's reaction, whatever it may be.

A sudden shout rang out from the camp's perimeter;

"To arms! Risen are attacking us! To arms!"

_Not now, _Robin screamed mentally. He felt so tired.

But the Risen would not give him time to gather his wits. The Shepherds would have to assemble their defenses immediately.

"Are you sure you capable of this?" Chrom asked worriedly, his figure compressed as if it were readying itself for the incoming battle.

"I may not be" Robin admitted to Chrom, forcing himself to smile. "But I adapt fast."

Chrom nodded in acceptance and bolted off to what had essentially become the battle's front line. Robin began to run as well, to take his place as the lynchpin of this army; for he was their tactician, the very same that had helped Ylisse to victory in their last war with Plegia. It did not matter that he still felt like hurling up; these people were Robin's only known family. He would sooner die than let any one of them get killed by the Risen.

As Robin ran, his coat flared around him, flapping itself happily against the blowing wind and rampaging rain.


	2. Chapter 2

**A warning: This chapter was written during the late hours of the night, and so the quality may have suffered. If it becomes apparent that this is not something that can be called "art", I'll withdraw it and make another version. Enjoy :P**

**PS: Please inform me if any character acts out of character(in comparison to the first chapter, and also in comparison to the game)!**

* * *

**Everlasting Bonds: Wings of Despair**

_Madman and the Shepherds_

* * *

Cries of rage and fear were sounding all around the wet camp site. The Risen had encircled the perimeter, and peppered warriors from a safe distance with arrows and an occasional javelin. Their situation was becoming increasingly worse; muddy ground made their foothold slippery at best, and the rain made it so hard to see that all archers became effectively useless. It was an almost unfair advantage to the Risen that needed no eyes to aim.

Slightly ahead from the camp, main force of the Shepherds found itself in trouble as the Risen axe men ran themselves against their defensive lines again and again.

Ylisseans were struggling: somehow, the Risen were launching coordinated attacks on them, exhausting the Shepherds in their battle against the brunt of Risen main force. Any stragglers were picked off with an arrow to the back.

Chrom ran into the middle of the worst skirmish, swinging Falchion in wide - but controlled - arcs, forcing the Risen to either back off or fall before his blade. One of them managed to duck his sword, but did not quite manage to axe Chrom as he brought down the pommel of his sword, knocking the undead down. He swung his sword gracefully around, and impaled the Risen without any hesitation.

Troops became roused by the courage that Chrom showed on the battlefield, and started pushing forward, towards the bulk of enemy force.

"Do not engage the enemy!" somebody shouted in an authoritative voice. "Fall back inside the perimeter!"

Chrom smiled. It was about time that _he_ showed up. The tactician was standing on a munitions crate that he had probably dragged out from one of the storage tents. He did not look all that special while standing, but there was an air about him, something that made men listen to him and obey at his first command. It had not always been so, of course, but-

The prince snapped his eyes back to the battle. This was no time to be engaged in idle thoughts. Focus was the sole thing that carried men through battles unharmed, or at least made sure that one would not die. Thus, he had to concentrate on wiping out the threat that was before him, and leave the tactics to Robin.

* * *

They made a circle around the perimeter of their camp – according to Robin's orders – and put the heavy knights forward to engage the enemy forces first. Each one of them was wearing a great helmet and thick body armor that could have probably stood a blow from a dragon. Not that they were eager to try that out, of course; heavy knights were always the most sensible people in any army. According to the judgment of these knights there were more fools than sane persons in the Shepherds, for only half of them wore something that could be counted as armor.

Mages and archers were put immediately behind the heavy knights to launch an onslaught of death towards the soon approaching enemy, and cavalry waited behind them, ready to pick off the stragglers. Regular swordsmen would work as replacements if Risen managed to burst through the iron-clad defense, although Robin hoped that it would not come to that.

It was a plan that relied entirely on its shock value. If they failed to clean up most of the enemy assault during the first five minutes, the Shepherds would have much trouble disengaging from the enemy with their fatigued troops.

Robin was frustrated. They had no way to take out the archers that loomed at range, endangering every one of the Shepherds with their sweeping barrages. And then there were the mages: Robin wished that he had ten able pegasus riders, that would have been courageous enough to fly to the enemy spellcasters, dismount, and do battle on foot. But Robin had only two, and each of them was also married. There was no way that he could ask Sumia and Cordelia to take on such a dangerous mission; it was against his work ethics.

Robin sighed. These lines would have to last until all of the enemy's close combatants were destroyed.

Unless… No, he would not send Frederick out there, alone.

The tactician's hands were tied. The result of this battle would show whether his decisions had been right.

He somberly drew his own sword from its sheath.

_If only there was a way to tip the scales in our favor._

* * *

"Caw, caw."

A murder of crows started circling around the perimeter. More were arriving by the minute, even in the torrent that threatened to sweep them all away.

The shepherds already had a hard time concentrating on the approaching enemy when the crows flew around them, but when the birds dropped a live person in the midst of them, the little concentration that they had shattered into smithereens.

It was a fairly handsome fellow with silver hair and an obnoxiously irritating smile. He felt like a person that would offer one something precious only to rip his heart out.

Such was the Shepherds' image of the person that stumbled into their camp during the difficult battle, smelling of feathers and rain.

"Caw,cawca caw", the man said to them, looking around curiously. Then he noticed Chrom, clapped his hands together and shouted once more: "Caw!"

Chrom had already figured out that there was something wrong with the man's mannerisms, but he could not point out what it was. His senses were screaming _dangerous _to anyone that cared to listen, causing him to hunch over slightly and prepare for the incoming attack.

However, it never came.

"Cawca… What? Oh…"

Suddenly the drenched, silver-haired man started to speak like a regular person.

"The crows informed me that you cannot actually understand the crow-tongue", he said while smiling, eyes closed. "The birds have cataloged the only people that can, you see, and so I also knew!"

_This man_, Chrom concluded, _is a lunatic_. It wasn't often that he made a decision to call a man such. _What manner of man would dance right into the middle of the losing side's forces, and start a conversation?_

"_Caw,caw!_" crows above them cried.

"A curious man" the silver-haired youth answered to Chrom. The astonished prince beheld him, wondering how the man had known his thoughts.

"Caaaaaaaaaw!"

"It is the crows, I tell you. They know _things_, and such blabbermouths as they are…" he said, quickly glancing at the dark, stormy skies where the crows gathered.

"…We really ought to hold this conversation when there are no crows, I tell you."

Chrom tried to reassess the person that had arrived to their camp, but he found it difficult. First impressions were hard to erase, and his mind was still dead set on attacking the man in the name of self-defense. However, he could still become an asset.

"Robin! Do we need crows?" Chrom shouted at the tactician.

* * *

"_This man is..._ _what, exactly?_" Robin mused. The soaked silver-haired man - that Chrom had led to him - acted like a slightly deranged person, but his speech gave an image of intelligent, if eccentric man. He was a question, and those Robin could not answer right now; he pushed thoughts about the man's persona aside.

"Caw…ca?"

"If you really want to know", the man said to him looking abashed, "I have a thing for… indecent things…"

Robin frowned at the man. "I do not really want to…"

"Cutting and murder", the man told him curtly.

"Pardon?" Robin said, unable to believe his ears.

"And also science. It is a shameful thing, I know, but…"

"Murder?" Robin almost shouted. "And also, cutting what?" He was sure that the man would get thrown in jail when they arrived to the nearest city.

"You are not going to ask about my experiments, then?" he asked, appearing relieved.

"What. Did. You. Cut?" Robin asked, his face emanating the icy behavior that he had adopted. The trick worked sometimes, but not nearly as often as Robin would have hoped for.

"I am truly, truly grateful that you did not ask. I dislike telling about my experiments, as they are the most unruly sort", the silver-haired man continued.

The tactician gave up. Risen would be assaulting again soon, and Robin wanted to commence his plans before it.

"In any case", he said, "I was told that you have… unusual allies."

"The crows, yes. They make bad companions, but any kind of drivel is better that the clatter of stones on the highways."

"Caw!" a single crow answered to the man's claims.

"Look, that is simply how the things are!" he shouted upwards, leaving confused Robin hanging at the sidelines. The tactician _assumed_ that he was talking to the crows, but who knew if that was really the case. They certainly did not have another translator available at the moment.

"Could your crows distract the archers and mages around our perimeter?" Robin asked.

"Birdbrains!"

"Did you hear me?" Robin asked, his voice scarily cold once again. The silver-haired man turned around seeming surprised. _Perhaps he finally realized how grave this situation is_, Robin thought hopefully.

"Yes. I will convey the message," the strange man answered to Robin.

"And your name is…?"

"Mine?" the man asked incredulously. "The crows never use it, so I have almost forgotten it. But…"

The man sank into deep thought.

Robin shook his head.

This wasn't what he signed for when he opted for the job of master tactician.


	3. Chapter 3

**Off topic: I am terrified of this chapter, I think that I did it rather well, but there are some... Things that I might have to go and change around. It may however have the single most coherent combat scenario in anything that I have written. We shall see, perhaps it just feels a bit stale 'cause there is no humor. Have fun reading this.**

* * *

**Everlasting bonds: Wings of despair**

_Weakening lines_

* * *

In the end, Sully suggested that they would call the strange man by the name Henry, as the man could not remember his own name anymore. For all they knew, the crows could have stolen his memories, and the Shepherds would have been none the wiser. Small black shapes certainly made for uncertain allies, but after some bickering they did as Henry asked. He had become the one thing that tipped the scale slightly to their favor, and Robin did not intend to waste the momentum. The night had already continued far too long.

As the crows pestered the enemy's ranged attackers, Robin dedicated commanders to each of the four lines: Chrom held the northern one with his wife Sumia, Long'qu guarded south with Lissa, Frederick stood alone to the east and the legendary power-couple – that consisted of Cordelia and Gaius, neither of them actually knew about the nickname that they were called by – waited for the incoming assault at the western line, telling jokes to one another. They might not have actually known about the effect their talk had on the troops' morale, but general mood clearly shifted for the better at the western line.

Some of the regular foot soldiers attempted to scrape off extraneous mud from their armors, trying to avoid having a much worse time cleaning them up later. Archers checked their bowstrings, and swordsmen tried out the edges of their swords. Only heavy knights did nothing, and for a good reason too. Their armor was too clunky to clean while inside the suit, their spears were always sharp, and there were no javelins to throw.

This was a merry band of warriors that knew where their priorities lay: their loyalty was only to their friends, fiercely and to the death. This was a company of that consisted of people that had built bonds between each other: they were called "the Shepherds."

Robin had never been as proud of them as today, when he gazed upon them all from his munitions crate, and saw their friendship and warmth towards each other. _This is my family,_ he thought to himself. _I will not let some Risen, no matter how coordinated they are, to destroy our flock! I will protect them_, Robin swore.

As if to test his mettle, the enemy charged towards their perimeter.

"Archers! Mages! Put down as many as you can, and withdraw to the middle! Shield bearers; cover our ranged support from the stray arrows!"

A string of commands left his mouth, each one followed explicitly by the men and women of the company. They worked in harmony, launching a barrage of flaming, wooden and thundery death towards the incoming enemy. Risen numbers thinned down somewhat, but the biggest clash was still to come. Vulnerable archers and mages retreated hastily to the middle of the camp, where shield bearers lifted their shields high to deflect away any arrows that arrived through the murder of crows ailing the enemy's ranged support.

Then they heard a deafening crash, as the enemy forces threw themselves against their lines.

* * *

The battle raged around him, its chaos unreadable and terrifying. Gaius twisted and darted around, making it harder for the Risen to hit him while simultaneously slashing at them. His strikes were fast but precise, and after a few cut tendons each and every Risen that met his blades fell.

However, his wife was nowhere to be seen. Cordelia had dismounted her pegasus before the fight and chose to fight on foot, which was not where her strengths lay. There was much pressure on Gaius, as he had no way to make sure whether she was alive, or possibly…

He struggled to push the thought away, and struck at the next Risen that had advanced too close to his position. At Gaius's sides heavy knights kept their position valiantly, holding the line surprisingly well. But it was strange.

Where were all the axe-users? The ones here had only swords.

He saw a flash of the long, red hair that was his wife's trademark quality. If she was a sweet pie, then that hair was… Something not as tasty, that was for certain.

The red hair whirled about, following his spinning wife around. Then it whirled again.

And yet again, except now there was a frenzied quality to the way that the hair flowed.

Something was wrong.

Cordelia was panicking.

As the way opened for Gaius he dashed desperately for his wife.

Two Risen with spears blocked his path, and the thief grunted.

_No sweets for you two_, Gaius thought angrily, twirling the daggers in his hands till they became a startling circle that spun itself around his fingers.

And then he dashed between the Risen, slashing at them both while receiving a stab to his thigh. He stumbled, and fell down near some extremely intimidating Risen, who – to Gaius's dismay – had no intention to parley with him.

* * *

Lon'qu pushed forward, giving no quarter to the Risen blocking his path. One of the Risen had dared to graze Lissa, and that had cost the undead warrior its head.

One sweep of his sword cut down the first Risen, second swing parried a spear targeted at his lungs, and the third was a hurricane of wrath, slashing through the two remaining Risen.

He felt a tingle near the back of his neck – it was a warning that Lon'qu had long since learned to heed – and glanced around. Most of the enemy's assault had fallen before their might, and what lay before them now was a dark field of corpses. Some of them had already started to decompose with extraordinary speed – it could be that the very nature wanted these things to disappear quicker – but it was still a gruesome sight, even to his eyes.

"Maybe we should send support to other lines?" Lissa asked from Lon'qu, holding her shoulder. She had healed the graze with her staff, but it would take rest for the body to recover from the exertion it took to heal one's body.

Lon'qu's answer to Lissa's question was immediate, given in form of a command to his sergeant: "Send one fifth of our strength to Robin. He will know where to put them." The sergeant saluted the foreign swordsman, and did as he ordered.

"However, Lissa…" he added, "I have a very bad feeling about this affair."

As he beheld the mangled bodies on the battlefield – some of them were fallen comrades – he felt sad, and terrified of the prospect of losing even more friends today.

* * *

Frederick was in trouble.

He knew there was a reason he was made to hold a line alone – instead of a human companion - but that did not make him feel any better.

He could see what had essentially happened.

The Risen – through unprecedented smarts and cunning – had led the main part of their force against North and East.

They had many axe men that had already cut down half of his heavy knights. The situation was dire; at this rate the Risen would burst through their line.

He called his sergeant.

"Tell Robin we need _immediate_ assistance to the east! Now go!" Frederick shouted, and turned his horse around to catch a look through the dark battlefield.

The rain had calmed down, but it did not help them much. The ground was unsuitable for a cavalry charge, and the mud slowed his horse down so much that some of the Risen had found a few opportunities to strike at it. The poor mare was now bleeding from many spots, and if it received no healing during the next ten or so minutes, it would die.

_Such a grim situation._

How ironic that the people called him Frederick the Grim Reaper, yet he would save his horse, had he a choice; however, this present situation had essentially doomed her to the shadow of death.

Frederick patted Fiora's neck. Whatever they did next would probably be their last moment together.

Better make it a memorable one.

And so he took a stand against the oncoming Risen, his silvery lance alongside the lifelong comrade, bellowing with all his might and charging into the fray.

All that his men heard from the resulting crash was his titular war cry: "Pick a god and pray!"

The dead men died yet again, killed by the Grim Reaper of the Shepherds.

* * *

"Chrom, we cannot hold this!" Sumia shouted at her blue-haired husband. They were being suppressed by a horde of axe-men Risen, and had lost most of their line during the ten minutes of defense.

"Give Robin one more minute!" Chrom bellowed back. "He will do something to help us!"

Their retreat was about to be cut out in a few moments, after which they would be entirely in the tactician's hands.

"I will not let you die here!" Sumia cried back, trying to fend off an axe-man Risen with a spear.

Chrom swept toward the Risen that was giving his wife a hard time, and brought his sword up in a slanted strike. The Risen crumpled, and then it was no more.

"Thank you", Sumia said to him, embarrassed after claiming such a thing and needing help against an enemy. Chrom shrugged it off with a laugh. "Anytime."

"Captain, sir!" an approaching young lieutenant shouted to Chrom, ten soldiers in his tow. "Master Tactician Robin sent us as reinforcements."

Chrom glanced at his wife. "See?" Sumia sighed, relieved and happy that Chrom's trust in the tactician had not been misplaced.

"Go take your place in the line, lieutenant."

"Yes captain!

The young lieutenant turned around to join the fight, but Chrom called out to him again: "And lieutenant, next time simply say Robin", he said grinning. "It makes for a much easier report."

The young man grinned back. "Of course, Captain!"

"You can go."

As the young man joined his friends in the battle, Chrom found himself wondering again about whether the battle was a right place for such a young person. Once again, he found no answers, and chaos of the battlefield urged him to come back from his thoughts, lest he found himself impaled by a Risen.

* * *

Gaius couldn't rise up to his feet anymore; his foot was burning from the pain, but he tried to ignore it to the best of his ability. It was very hard to focus anymore, but he refused to go down and leave Cordelia alone.

…If she was still alive.

Gaius was surrounded by four Risen. They approached him with speed that showed no hesitation.

They could have perhaps heard the rumbling hooves, had they stopped, but it was too late for them now. Of course, Gaius would not miss the Risen.

An iron-tipped lance impaled the first creature, making it fall down and take the lance with it. The female rider did not seem to mind, and there were certainly other ways to exterminate the Risen.

The red-haired woman was followed by a man – that had an appearance of a layabout – who swung his sword at that Risen warrior near Gaius's feet. It was a simple, effortless cut, but its effect was unquestionable. The undead head of the creature flopped down in an almost humoristic manner.

"Duck, Orange!" he heard the final arrival say, and heeded the command, for the last person was known for pulling outrageous stunts. This time was no different. As Gaius lowered himself, two hatchets flew past where his shoulders had been, hitting the last two Risen behind him. All credit to Vaike, he had never missed a shot. Even that time with the Exalt Emmeryn-

Actually, there were more important issues to address at the moment.

"Vaike, you almost killed me! How many times do I have to say it; do _not_ use me as target practice!"

Vaike shrugged his shoulders broadly. "But Orange, we could see that you were in grav-"

"Do not call me Orange!" Gaius added. "They are bitter!"

Vaike shrugged at the thief again. "Fine then. G, did you see Cordelia-"

"Do not call a person by the first letter of their name either! And what about Cordelia? Have you seen her?" All of a sudden he could remember her plight, and that red hair flashing around in the midst of their enemies. He tried to rise up again, but failed to do so.

"Give it up shortie, your leg is bust", Sully said to him. Gaius could hardly argue with her.

"And Cordelia, well…" Sully went silent.

None of them said anything for a while. Gaius could feel something constrict his throat.

"She's taking a nap. Was hit rather hard to the skull, but it is nothing serious", Stahl – the one who looked like a layabout – said. Gaius's sigh of relief quickly turned into rage. He spun one of his daggers, and threw it at Vaike's left foot, missing it only by a hair.

"Hey Orange, why do you-"

Another dagger arrived, this time drawing blood.

"Argh! Stop it or I-"

Third dagger followed, and then the fourth, until finally there were nine daggers around Vaike's left foot.

"That teaches you to play around with important information", Gaius said, sounding satisfied.

"But it was Sully who withheld it!" Vaike shouted at him. "I knew nothing about the redhead!"

Something flared inside Gaius, and he reached to grasp the final dagger.

"Do _not_ call her redhead!" he shouted, slinging the dagger towards the haft of Vaike's axe. Gaius's dagger sank deep, splitting the haft in two.

All of them looked at the short thief like he had just attempted a murder. That was not the case; however, these people would prove to be hard to convince.

Then again, Gaius had talked himself out of situations that had been _far_ worse.

* * *

The Risen surrounded him from all sides.

Such an ending to his life; a man with his most loyal friend.

Fiora was neighing in pain as the Risen kept attacking her. However, her fire had still not burned out.

She leaped an enormous jump - that would later be remembered by the Shepherds as the "Vault of blood" – over the squirming Risen, almost halfway back to Frederick's line. The legendary vault ended in tumbling, and at the end of it the horse lay down, dying.

The gruff man did not intend to leave his bloodied horse lying down, but something invisible took a hold of him and started to drag him back towards the safety of the line. A few heavy knights surrounded Frederick and the ghostly being, keeping the Risen away with mediocre success.

"Let go of me, apparition!" Frederick shouted, ready to wrestle the strange ghost down to go back to his horse.

"I cannot do that, Frederick" a soft, peaceful voice answered.

Frederick reared his head at the source of the voice.

"Kellam?"

"Yes?"

"Let go of me at this instant. This is a command from the captain of the eastern line."

"Frederick, you wouldn't be a captain much longer, if you went back there", the peaceful voice said, sounding somewhat stern. It was not like Kellam to be so adamant about something.

"It was an _order_!"

"Yes, you stated that already", Kellam told Frederick. "But I cannot let you die. You are a friend."

Frederick became silent.

A few moments later the broken rider held his head down and asked the knight: "Kellam, did she have to die?"

"The horse?" Kellam asked.

"Yes", Frederick answered, too tired to say something sarcastic.

"I do not know."

They were silent for the rest of their walk to the eastern line.


	4. Chapter 4

**Off-topic: You'll see in this chapter what I mean by twisting scenes. Also, I feel that this chapter is weakest of the lot, but it may honestly be just me. Once again, it has its strong and weak parts. All in all, if I can create compelling characters, then it will not matter how badly I write for now.**

**I still enjoyed writing it, and that always helps me to produce quality. I am kind of amused by the fact, that I am producing one chapter each day. It may be that I do not edit it enough. I guess I have to start doing that at some point.**

**But enjoy, I really tried to get an epic vibe into it. Changing viewpoints mid-battle certainly makes it more hectic :P.**

* * *

**Everlasting Bonds: Wings of Despair**

_To the northern line_

Robin was appalled by how many dead there already were. Half of the eastern line was gone, and although the southern and western lines had almost no casualties, they were still stuck to cleaning up the straggling Risen.

North, however, would break soon. Robin had sent some reinforcements – those that he got from South – but they had not been enough to remedy the situation. North's heavy knights were all but gone and they did not have any cavalry left. All they had was but a dozen swordsmen.

This was the kind of situation that the tacticians were for, although the preferred course was to avoid such situations in the first place.

Robin felt sick. He tried to ignore the annoying pulsing in his stomach that indicated his need to go and hurl up. It became quickly apparent to Robin that sometimes the tacticians had their own enemies to fight. In Robin's case, it was the overpowering feeling of nausea that had struck back, even after the situation with the Plegian sorcerer.

"_Damn you, Validar_", Robin muttered. "_I will get you for this._"

The tactician gave his final orders in haste and climbed down from the crate to retch, gagging uncharacteristically loud.

* * *

Gaius's leg had already been healed by a cleric, but it would take rest to fully abate the pain. He had no choice but to stay behind and watch his troops clean up the remaining Risen; then again, every moment away from the battlefield was a blessing.

It was not an especially dark night, but darkness certainly dimmed his view so that he had to squint to see where Sully or Stahl were; two of them covered much ground with their horses, leaving other soldiers far behind, even in the mud.

But Vaike was someone that Gaius never had difficulties spotting, as the muscular man traversed with the grace of a bull. At the very moment he was dashing at two Risen, flailing his axes like a madman. He parried a blow from his left, struck the Risen down with his right-hand axe and spun around with the momentum, only to scrape the next one. Vaike stepped on his left foot and stumbled suddenly, but as he fell down he manage to score a blow to the Risen warrior's knee. It fell on Vaike, and they wrestled, human warrior desperate in his attempts to overpower the undead axe-man.

Something popped so loud that even Gaius heard it. He swung his head around in alarm, looking for anyone to inform of Vaike's plight; there were none. Vaike was alone.

Another disgusting pop resounded on the battlefield. Gaius recognized the voice.

It was the sound of a bone popping out of its socket.

Neither shape moved anymore.

Gaius's eyes widened in terror.

Vaike had stumbled after stepping on his left foot that Gaius had scraped with his knives.

Had _he_ actually caused his friend's death?

Gaius heard a cry from the distance, calling his name, but he could not care.

His friend was…

…apparently not dead, as a victorious roar came from the pile that consisted of the Risen warrior and Vaike. The barbarous fighter rose up, shook himself, and gazed upon Gaius. The thief lifted his hand in greeting, more than happy for the fact that The Brute was still alive.

Of course, Vaike would never come to know it.

"Captain Gaius", a voice said from Gaius's side. A man – whose stripes denominated him as a sergeant – stood there, saluting and respectfully waiting for Gaius's answer. He turned to look at the man and answered: "Yes?"

The sergeant became flustered; Gaius was notorious for not following military protocol, even if he knew that things were done differently in the army. That was because Gaius could not make himself parade around like a rooster among the chicken; it would've made him lose all of his self-respect.

"Out with it, mister. We cannot spend the whole night looking at each other like fawning lovebirds", Gaius said.

_He _would of course act like a fawning lovebird, once he found Cordelia alive and well, but that would be _after_ the battle. There were more important things to care about at the moment.

"Yes, Captain Gaius. Master Tactician Robin-"the sergeant started, but Gaius corrected; "Robin. No fancy titles."

"Yes, sir. Robin asked me to bring half of your men to the North."

"Half!" Gaius exclaimed. _Is the situation that bad?_

"Yes, sir", the sergeant said, as if answering his thoughts.

"Take them, then" Gaius said, almost forgetting to add something that was required by the protocol. Only the nervous gaze of the sergeant let him remember the correct words. "You have my permission."

"Thank you, sir", the sergeant said and rushed off to gather his forces.

_"And may the god of all things sweet help us all"_, Gaius muttered after him.

* * *

Lon'qu could recognize someone shout for him, although the person's pronunciation was slightly off.

"Captain Lo'qu!"

He turned around to meet the new arrival. He was an older person; someone, who had apparently served many years as a soldier. It was easy enough to see the experience of the battles long gone in his eyes, decades of weapon practice marking his hands and the courage to face the new threat with everything that he had on his face.

_This man is a true warrior,_ Lon'qu assessed. It wasn't about the man's skill with the sword – although it was very likely that the man was a formidable swordsman - or ability to lead; rather, there was this silent determination and the love for his country that made him formidable, despite his age.

Thus – out of respect – Lon'qu never bothered to correct his pronunciation.

"I need to bring half of your men to the northern line immediately, sir! Robin's orders!" the man said, bumping his fist against his armored chest. Lon'qu had never appreciated the gesture – the rattle of armor hurt his ears – but he could see that it was heartfelt. _Let this not be the day that he is taken away,_ he prayed against his habits and beliefs. A man such as this deserved to live.

"We can afford that, do so. _You have my permission._"

"I was also told to bring you to the North, Captain Lo'qu", the old soldier added, to Lon'qu's surprise.

"Then who will guard the southern line?" he asked, hiding a frustrated grimace. He didn't like the idea of leaving Lissa alone, having no trusted person to guard her back.

"I was told that man would take the command", the old man said pointing at a smiling silver-haired youth who was conversing with Lissa.

The tingle on the back of Lon'qu's neck flared, warning him about the man. He barely controlled the urge to throw his sword at the youth's back.

"Is he mad?" Lon'qu asked, referring to their tactician.

"Very likely", the old soldier said, gazing at the silver-haired youth.

"Lissa! I need to talk to you, now!" Lon'qu shouted, catching her attention immediately. He gestured her towards himself.

As Lissa walked, Lon'qu weighed his options.

He could disobey Robin's orders, risking for the plan to fail, or obey, and leave his wife to the mercy of a man that caused his instincts to flare up in warning.

In the end, none of them would live if the tactician's plans failed.

However, would a single soldier matter?

"What is it?" Lissa asked, smiling as wonderfully as ever despite the carnage.

_No, she is smiling like that _because_ of the carnage_, Lon'qu thought. _She's horrified of it._

He touched her cheek with his palm. Lissa's eyes widened in surprise and she turned red.

"Wha-"

"Lissa, this is important", Lon'qu said, not missing the meaning behind her reaction; they simply did not have enough time to get embarrassed, right now. "I will leave you with that man", he said, nodding toward the silver-haired youth, "for now. Robin gave orders; I will go to the northern line."

"What? Why?" she asked nervously. "What is happening?"

"Northern line is breaking", the old soldier answered emphatically. "We need your husband there."

"Not we", Lon'qu said decisively. "You stay here, and guard her from the new commander."

"But sir-"the old soldier attempted to say, but Lon'qu cut him off with a raised palm.

"I go, you stay. That concludes this matter", he said, and this time the old man complied, bumping his armor with his right-hand fist.

"I was told by Robin to tell Lissa this one thing", he said, turning towards the princess of Ylisse. "'If the white-haired man does something strange or tries to attack you-"

The couple was surprised by a deep frown that suddenly appeared on the old warrior's face.

"- you, feel free to burn him alive with your magic'."

Lon'qu shook his head, and turned to answer the silver-haired youth's gaze. His smile grated at Lon'qu, and made the swordsman blink repeatedly to push the vision of it away from his mind.

_Why did you send a man like him here, Robin,_ he asked, concluding that the old warrior's assessment of the tactician going mad was probably right.

* * *

The Risen became an overpowering wave, pushing them a dozen feet backwards with each gush.

There was nothing to be done.

North would crumble soon.

However, Sumia was not going to let Chrom die. As a Risen approached her, Suma swung the shaft of her spear at its feet. It fell backwards, not so much as a grunt heard when Sumia impaled its undead heart to the muddy ground. She twisted her spear and then pulled it away. One more enemy was down, but there were still too many for each of them. She wished – and not for the first time – that all of them would simply drop dead.

She found herself smiling. That would have been an amusing sight.

"Mother!"

Sumia frowned. There were no women alive on the northern line, at least none other than herself. However, the urgency of the cry made her turn around, her spear's shaft lifted up to block any incoming attack.

Unfortunately, words 'any incoming attack' did not apparently hold true for an axe-blade. The momentum of the weapon was such that it split her spear in two and sank deep into her chest.

After that, the axe was pulled back with a sickening _swish._

The courageous pegasus knight – who had been forced to fight on foot – sank to her knees, trying to see what lay before her. However, dark fog swirled in, making her unable to see anymore.

* * *

Chrom turned around upon hearing a familiar voice shouting, and saw the axe being pulled out from Sumia's chest.

His field of view narrowed to consist only of one target; the Risen that had struck Sumia. He sprang towards it, repeatedly cursing himself to move faster.

The axe prepared to strike again. Chrom cried out in warning, desperately commanding Sumia to get out of its way.

Then axe fell along with the hand that held it, and a golden blade burst out from the Risen warrior's chest. It became stained in blood, poetically condemning the very act of using it for violence.

The blade ripped itself out, felling the Risen and revealing the person behind it. It was Marth, who was finally back from wherever she had been to.

Chrom was unable to continue his dash forward, finding himself besotted by quite a few Risen. As he fell into stance he proceeded to shout: "How is her wound? Is she going to live?"

Marth stabbed her sword through Sumia's arm.

"NO! MARTH!" Chrom shouted in disbelief and terror.

"Be quiet, you! Just keep the Risen at bay!" Marth shouted, closing her eyes while holding the grip of her sword, her Falchion.

"You stabbed her!" Chrom shouted, attempting to clear his way to her. He was stricken by the fact that the woman had rewarded his trust so.

"Trust me!" she shouted, turning her eyes toward him and making Chrom doubt his own eyes during that moment.

He saw a familiar flash of light blue and a sign, one that could not possibly be; the mark of the exalt was branded on Marth's left eye, denominating that she was part of a certain bloodline. And the case was such that the bloodline was the very same one that Chrom himself belonged to. His mind shouted questions and demanded answers desperately, even while turning to fight the Risen around himself.

Then everything came together; the two-month old girl that was left in their castle, the signet ring that he saw Marth wear, and her eyes that had seen the future. He faced the Risen, bellowing with rage and focusing in his fight once more.

They would have to have a conversation after this, but he would leave Sumia in the woman's hands for now.

After all, it all matched up. Marth could not possibly cause her death, because she was actually their daughter. How, or why, Chrom did not know, however he would always trust Lucina, who was of his own blood.

* * *

**Off-topic(AGAIN?): Interesting :P. And see what I did there, switching things central to some scenes around? Although I should have perhaps written it more compellingly. I'll try more of that in the future, doing unpredictable things and see where it leads us... Me... You. Readers.**

**Anyway, Fire Emblem: Awakening's soundtrack is amazing, you guys should get it too :P**


	5. Chapter 5

**Off-topic: This is a good one, I can feel it in my butt. Erm, gut. But really, this one I am really proud of, especially since there are so many unexpected elements and surprises. I bid you good luck, and don't forget that there will be no battles for a while(we will focus on recruiting a certain character, as well as build some others; not from lego bricks, mind you)**

**One more thing. Next chapters are going to be something that is easiest for me to write(battle scenes are HARD for me), so I think you'll really enjoy those. As always, feel free to PM me critique, opinions and what you loved about the story.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

**Everlasting bonds: Wings of despair**

Twin swords of hope

* * *

Chrom did not want to let the Risen attack their ranged support, but the line was now gone. There was no effective defense to be formed here.

"Retreat! To the camp, now!" he shouted.

The command was obeyed immediately.

"You two, take mother and carry her back to camp!" he heard Lucina say with authority._ She will make a fine queen someday_, Chrom told himself proudly.

Lucina had apparently no intentions to disguise her identity anymore. _Or she accidentally said 'mother'_, he thought and met her eyes. He had not imagined it. The mark of the exalt_ was_ there, branded on Lucina's left eye.

_She will grow into such a beautiful woman,_ Chrom thought. _If only we had some room to talk about this all._

"We will cover their retreat", Lucina said to him, nodding at the two soldiers that picked Sumia from the ground.

"That thing with the sword…" Chrom began, only to be immediately stopped by Lucina's stern '_later'_. Besides, Risen were not known for waiting the conversations to naturally die out.

They fell into a natural rhythm, deflecting blows and striking at each other's enemies when they showed any openings. There was an entrancing quality to their movement, almost as if they had begun a dance that was at the same time deadly yet also graceful. To any onlooker it seemed like they mirrored each other's moves to an unbelievable extent.

A parry there, a kick to the knee popping a bone out of its socket, a rash strike only to be complemented by another's sweeping slash. It was a perfect duet during the night, felling enemies left and right, guarding the escape of their soldiers.

Lucina stumbled while backing away and fell, but Chrom kept the enemy at bay while she rose up. Such was their teamwork, that the soldiers became almost mesmerized.

Beauty during the war, now that was something to see.

"Captain! Captain!" a youngish voice shouted suddenly at Chrom.

"I am currently rather occupied, soldier!"

"It cannot wait!" the enthusiastic youth said.

"Start shouting then!" Chrom snapped, barely evading a tip of a Risen axe.

"Robin has ordered the North to retreat!"

"Yes, and what exactly-"he said while Lucina slashed at his prey, giving him a sidelong look, "-exactly do you think that we are doing right now?"

He could not see the young man, but he assumed that he took a moment to glance up the situation. "Retreating, sir!"

"Good! Now go tell Robin that!"

"Yes sir!"

Chrom shook his head. "That sly fox", he said. Apparently Robin had known to expect this. It was one worry off Chrom's mind, then.

"What is he up to this time?" he asked aloud, making sure that the person to his left heard it.

Lucina glanced at him again. Her eyes were questioning and mildly intrigued.

* * *

"Send the sign, Virion!" Robin shouted to the archer, feeling almost normal again. "Let us bury these Risen once more."

"You will have what you ask for", Virion answered his request. "Now behold!" he shouted, firing a flaming arrow over the approaching Risen, lighting it up for a short while to illuminate the trap that had been set.

There were two lines of warriors at both sides of the Risen that troubled North; one line consisting only of heavy knights, while the other was filled with all the cavalry and swordsmen. Robin smirked smugly as they both started charging.

"Ladies and gentlemen…" the tactician proudly declared to their ranged support, "we present to you… 'Hammer and the anvil'!"

His over-dramatic introduction was received with an equally noisy round of applause.

* * *

_Such an outrageous plan_, Lon'qu had thought when it had been explained to them. Southern and western reinforcements were to be split into two groups; those containing only heavy knights, and the rest. They would then proceed to somehow sneak around the Risen and engage in a pincer maneuver, crushing the Risen in between. Lon'qu had protested at the idea, saying that Risen would never let their squads surprise them. Robin had smiled and simply said: "These Risen will", and had then proceeded to say that all of tonight's Risen were being controlled by someone. He had not said who, but the central idea of his plan was that Risen were in so tight control that they could not act independently to intercept his plan.

Lon'qu had complied with his plan, and it had resulted in a massacre: one hundred and ninety Risen were counted after the battle at the northern battlefield alone, minus those that had decomposed unnaturally fast.

They had an outrageous tactician. If only he had not been so prone to sarcasm.

* * *

It was finally over.

Robin walked around their camp, making sure that the wounded were taken care of. Shepherds would take care of their own fallen comrades; a clean cut with a fallen friend made the pain much easier to bear. Robin had to admit though; when he heard sobbing of a person that was unable to dig a grave for his departed friend, a certain fear started to constrict his heart. It was the fear of loss. What if he lost someone? How would he react?

Robin took assurance with the fact that none of the persons that buried their comrades took their own lives afterwards. There was untold wisdom in that tradition, and Robin always appreciated wisdom.

The tactician walked past Chrom's tent and almost stumbled into Frederick. The knights seemed rather sad. Had he lost a friend?

"Frederick", Robin called, causing the valiant knight to turn his head towards him. He decided to make him tell about his sorrows, even at the cost of a possible fight: "Tell me what happened."

The knight shrugged, seeming very downtrodden. "We had casualties."

"Which one especially?" Robin asked, knowing how to find his way to the heart of the matter after dozen such conversations. He had made it a habit to walk around the camp after battle, comforting people who had lost their friends, or possibly a soulmate. That was his way of reconciling himself with the fact that he sometimes had to make decisions that killed people, and those killed were not always enemies.

"My horse…" Frederick answered curtly. _At least he does not attempt to avoid the conversation, _Robin thought to himself.

"If you wish to talk, my tent is always open to you", the tactician said to him in a comforting manner.

"To me, and half the camp" Frederick said small smile on his lips. "It is not even in your job description, and yes, I verified it", he continued, some of his natural sarcasm bubbling out. Robin smiled at him. If Frederick was not any worse, there was no need to fear. He would regain his spirit in a week or so.

"What can I say, people like me."

"Shame the women don't agree", Frederick said and snorted.

"Hey! That was a low blow, and we don't do those in Shepherds!" Robin said, feeling hurt.

"Actually, we do. I verified", the knight said and walked away, holding his head higher than before.

_We do?_ He would have to check that one out later; now was the time to go and find the heir of Ylissean dynasty.

* * *

They walked through the woods till they were absolutely sure to be out of an earshot. The nearby flowing river would probably drown some of their conversation if they had been followed, but Chrom doubted such a thing would happen. He would not have even minded it - as he trusted his people completely – but he did as Lucina asked. He could always share it to Robin later at her permission.

"Surely this is fine?" he asked Lucina, who nodded. She turned around.

What had her eyes seen, to hold such sadness? Chrom considered himself a fool, one that had left his daughter to face such sorrow. His eyes glanced at her Falchion.

"You deserved better from me than one sword", he said to Lucina, touching the hilt of her golden sword.

"I…"

"What did I do? What happened, that caused me to leave you alone?" Chrom asked, feeling horrible about himself.

"You… died…" Lucina said. She threw her arms around him, crying out from a pain that Chrom knew too well; of having no father. The monster that conquered Plegia had not been his compassionate, merciful father.

"Father! Fath..er…" Lucina sobbed. Her tears ran, and Chrom did nothing to stop them. He embraced her, signifying that he would not let her suffer like that anymore. He would always be there for her, from now on.

"There is no hurry."

A silent voice of acceptance came from his arms, and Chrom turned to gaze at the far horizon.

He swore to keep himself safe; for his daughter, for Sumia, and for Robin, his closest friend. He would stay alive – whatever the fate threw at him - and return home with them all.

* * *

This was no time to be crying.

This was no time to be embracing him.

But what could she do? It was her long-dead father, after all; the father that she had longed for on those cold nights when they ran from the Risen, the father that stood there now, alive and well. _Not for long, if you do not tell him what will happen_, Lucina berated herself. However, she could not – did not – tear away from his embrace.

"Feeling better?" she heard her father - Chrom, the prince of Ylisse and a man of renown - say.

He could still be saved, averting the future that Lucina had seen. Or so she hoped. Aunt Emmeryn, the last exalt, had died even after Lucina had changed the future by intercepting a murder attempt at her life. That had been the last time that Chrom had seen Lucina; when she had warned her father that Emmeryn would die, if Lucina's words were not heeded.

Chrom had believed her.

Such a character he was, and a wonderful man indeed.

"Yes, immensely" she answered to Chrom and smiled. "It has been a while since you held me like that."

"How long, exactly?" Chrom asked, and Lucina could hardly blame him. After all, she was here to avert his death.

"If we round it up, two decades", she said vaguely.

"You could always tell me your age", Chrom said patiently.

"A woman always has a few secrets", she said evasively. Besides, she had always wanted to have a conversation like this with her father.

"How am I to avoid my own death with that little information?" her father asked, sounding frustrated. Lucina felt sorry for him, but she didn't want to risk altering the future _too_ much.

"I'll join your company", she said to Chrom, earning herself a delightfully surprised face.

"Wonderful. We were lacking sorely in the children department", Lucina heard someone else than her father say, and she spun around her heels. The purple-haired tactician was there, smiling at her; she could not tell whether the smile was fake or genuine, only that it felt slightly offensive.

"So, you followed us", her father said, not sounding surprised at all. Was this a setup?

"You… Told him to follow?"

"I did no such thing. I even left people to distract him", her father said, regaining her trust. "How did you figure it out?" he asked turning towards the tactician.

"After I walked away from Virion, only to meet Sully and find out that he had died in the span of last thirteen seconds."

"She was never good at the distracting part", Chrom admitted and laughed.

Lucina stood there, confused. She had met the tactician a few times before – during each time that she interacted with her father – and the man had always stood alongside his father. Who was he? Why had she no record of such of a man from her mother's tales?

Or was he the _closest friend_ that had killed her father?

"How much did you hear?" Lucina asked in a demanding tone. She could not have a possible murderer hearing everything that had been said.

"Do not worry", Robin said, "I heard nothing about what was said between your weeping and the future story." Lucina took a long look at him. _He does have a disarming smile_, she admitted to herself.

"He is misleading you, Lucina", Chrom warned her.

_Between… weeping, and the future story…_

It dawned on her. "You scoundrel! How did you know that I wept, then?"

"That would have been no secret to anyone that gazed upon your face, your royal highness", Robin said, and smiled again. Lucina gritted her teeth.

This man was quickly becoming a _royal_ pain.

"In all seriousness, though", the tactician said, "I heard your secret, so I will let you know mine."

Lucina blinked. Who would ever simply share their secrets?

The man gazed at her, and shrugged his shoulders. "Chrom", he said, facing Lucina's father, "There is something I have to tell you about that incident in the woods. That was not _nothing_, it was Validar."

Lucina jerked at the name; Validar, the sorcerer that had called that evil being into her world. It would serve her well to listen to this conversation.

"He talked to me, somehow. He…"

The young tactician's sentence cut out. Lucina looked at her father. He was waiting in silence, his face overlaid with concern.

_He may kill you yet, father_, she thought. _How can you trust so much?_

"_He told me that he is my…_" the tactician muttered. Chrom's head jerked back in surprise. Lucina, however, had not heard what the purple-haired man had said.

"Your what?" she asked him, earning a few blinks from her father. He gazed at the man again, as if asking permission.

"It is alright, Chrom; she is _your_ daughter, after all." Lucina was surprised. The trust between them was mutual. Could it be that she had been too hasty in her judgement?

"He said Validar claimed to be his father", Chrom told her.

_I take it back; he has to be my father's killer!_

"As much as I am loath to say this, it may be that he spoke the truth", the tactician admitted. "I do not know why, but his words felt… true."

"Even if you were his son, Robin, you are you. No one can change that."

The tactician smiled at Chrom. He had the face of one saved from a drop to the deep chasm of despair.

Lucina stood there quietly. She could not decide anymore. Robin _had_ to be her father's murderer, she had even seen what their relationship was like; the two were thick as thieves. However…

What kind of man would confess blood-relation to such a man as Validar?

She could not answer that question.

* * *

**Yup, we are setting up for something amazing here; 40+ chapters of headache. Alright, so that was a joke. But it also true that this will be longer than 40 chapters. You are in for a ride folks, you are in for QUITE SOME ride.** Lucky for you that I write a chapter per da-**Ahem, what was that? I heard nothing, did you? Anyway, I'll write depending on my mood, and today my mood was EXCELLENT, as can see from the two chapters that you just read. I hope you had fun, and I assure you that there is much ground to cover yet.**

**Although I may face some serious troubles when the children pop up... That will be in like... 3 chapters?**

**I really have to remove the Morgan counter soon, she will be coming up in two episodes. Expect greatness beyond measure from her! And also, be very very... Afraid? Happy? Who knows :P**

**Finally, apparently Fire Emblem music really inspires me to write. It sets such a tone and flow for my words, that you can't even imagine.**


	6. Chapter 6

Off-topic: Yikes, this chapter. It was such a pain to write. At least I managed to include something really awesome. Stay tuned for more.

* * *

**Everlasting bonds: Wings of despair**

_The unknown factor_

* * *

Lucina was holding a list of names in her hands; they were names of the people that had crossed the Gate with her and travelled back to the past where some of them had not even been born. Lucina had even noticed how some of the parents had not even started to court each other yet. It posed a problem; it was very plausible that the children could disturb the timeline so badly that their parents would never marry. However, their strength would be needed during the next few months. After all, in their future Ylisse barely won the war against Valm, and that had been on their own soil.

They were already going to challenge their own fate.

In the coming months, they would invade Valm with Plegia's ships.

* * *

"Is this absolutely necessary, Chrom?" Robin asked the prince while they walked through a forest. He pushed an especially tenacious branch away from his face. "Those villagers were so scared that they probably saw things that simply _were not there_." He stopped to take a breather, and the prince-ruler of Ylisse turned back to look at him.

"And you are out of practice", he stated calmly, accustomed to Robin's tirades. "Besides, what harm is there to check the situation out, if it alleviates their fears?"

"Let me tell you what will happen, if we have to walk much further", Robin said, still catching his breath. "First, I will turn red; then, as my anger dissipates, I will start to breath more heavily, till finally my legs can carry me no more, and I fall down to wait for the Risen to get me."

"Did you not just say that there were no Risen?" Chrom asked, smiling.

"I am a tactician; we play it safe", Robin answered sullenly. He was really not in the mood for jests, but some sarcasm always came out from somewhere. It was like a second nature to him; snarky comebacks and sharp comments that hurt people were always sharing his space. Sometimes, during his worst moments, he wondered how Chrom could stand those words.

Robin pushed his thoughts away; better be done with all this, and return to the camp. He had earned his rest, at least in his own opinion.

Chrom walked ahead, to the top of the hill, and stopped.

"You will feel much better after taking a look from here!" he shouted at Robin, who was left two dozen feet behind. The tactician grunted; he had nothing better to do, and sun would be a change to the dimness of this forest. He made his way to the hill and collapsed to the ground again.

After taking a deep breath Robin lifted his face to gaze upon the view.

Ahead from him was a valley that had quite a few qualities to it. Peaceful waterfalls fell on the angular stones of the valley, and there was a half-moon shaped lake surrounding the central area. There were many strange shapes that had been covered by undergrowth; some of them were still distinguishable.

"It seems almost… man-made", Robin said to the prince, who nodded in agreement.

"I guess these are the ruins, then", Chrom said, his eyes surveying the area. It would not be good, if a Risen war band ambushed them now.

* * *

"This is _not_ a sensible course of action", Robin said to Chrom, following him into the ruins against the nagging feeling that repeatedly pounded against the back of his head. _You will get us killed yet_, he thought, wondering why they had not taken any other Shepherds with them. _Oh yes, a bonding moment_, he thought, and grunted._ Well, I appreciate the thought, Chrom, I really do; however, I do not think that dancing with the mistress of grave is any fun. If anything, it will be a race back to the entrance of this maze._

Robin blinked his eyes.

"Chrom, did you make sure to memorize the way back to the entrance?" he asked in haste, grabbing the man's shoulder. The prince turned around and answered: "No? Why?"

"Because we are in _a damn maze_!" Robin shouted at Chrom, his voice echoing through the old and damp space. The tactician cursed his own carelessness. Such a cry would lead Risen to their location, if they did indeed dwell in these ruins.

"_Rrrn… Gorrr…"_

"You have to try to remember the way back to the entrance", Robin told Chrom hastily. The prince blinked once.

"Robin, I cannot remember it", he answered. "We may have to search it out."

"That is not how mazes work", Robin said to his friend, shaking his head in worry. "They are created to trap trespassers till they die of hunger or thirst. If we cannot remember the way…"

"Then what should we do? Surely there are some ways to best a maze; they can only take so much space, after all."

"They are called mazes for a reason, Chrom. You will lose your perception of space here, traveling these corridors for extended periods of time", Robin said, thinking feverishly. _Mazes… Mazes…_

He had read a book that mentioned them, once.

Unfortunately, he had no recollection of its contents.

* * *

They wandered around seeking for the exit, till the Risen finally found them.

Surprised as he was, Robin was still ready to counter the attack.

"Stay back!" he shouted to Chrom, starting to cast his lightning.

It would take some time, as spells always did; the whole process involved channelling magical energies of the nature to cause destruction. That was why mages used chants to focus those energies and form them into tangible shapes.

Each mage had his own litany of words that he used. Robin's was fairly lengthy, as he channelled lightning that was a very unpredictable element.

"Fire from the heaven…" he began chanting, closing his eyes to concentrate.

"Flame of gods…"

The Risen were halfway there now.

"Great spear of heat…"

One of them approached the vulnerable mage, striking at him with its sword. It was blocked by Chrom's Falchion.

"Straight forward, Robin!" he shouted, staying well out of the way of the incoming spell.

"Thoron!" the mage bellowed, unleashing his lightning. It pierced through the two Risen that were in front of Robin, leaving three more undead for them to deal with.

The prince became a flurry of death; a single golden line traversed around him, cutting where it had been but moments ago, and stopping once to reveal a shape of a sword. Then the line flashed again.

Robin watched in amazement as Chrom pushed forward to engage the two Risen that were left. Chrom kicked one of them to the chest – causing it to fall backwards – and engaged the other one in a series of parries and slashes.

The Risen stood its ground valiantly.

_Who was he_, Robin asked himself while unsheathing his sword. _Some warrior of renown?_

The two titans clashed again. Chrom charged valiantly against the Risen that held its sword sideways, utilizing a strange – and possibly long-gone – style of swordsmanship. Chrom stabbed forward, and the Risen warrior deflected it, punishing the prince's rash attack by kicking his legs, making him stagger. It was enough for the Risen, who hit Chrom's stomach with the pommel of a sword. The crown prince convulsed in pain and jumped backwards, only to be caught by the Risen warrior he had kicked down; the prince was pulled down despite his struggling.

Robin dashed forwards to help his friend.

"Fire from the heaven…"

_What, _Robin thought in confusion. He had not been the one to say those words.

However, who would use another person's chant? They were unique because each of them helped the very person that used it, and were useless to everyone else.

"Flame of gods, great spear of heat…"

Robin could not turn his head to verify the source of the voice. He had to run to Chrom's aid.

The risen warrior - that had fought with Chrom on almost equal footing – lifted its sword to strike at the fallen prince.

"THORON!" the alien voice shouted its voice full of youthful strength and enthusiasm. A bolt of yellow death ran past Robin, all the way to the two Risen that were about to kill his friend. It blasted through the Risen that had almost defeated Chrom in single combat, leaving a rather sizable hole in its chest.

Chrom turned around on the ground and stabbed the Risen that had pulled him down.

The battle was over.

Robin turned around to look at the girl that had arrived to save the day. She was a young person that had a wide smile as genuine as anyone could manage. She wore a coat not unlike his own, and had purple hair.

On closer look, it appeared that the cloak was almost exactly the same, only smaller.

Seeing the inevitable signs and having witnessed something similar only few days before, Robin had a premonition of what would happen. The tactician prepared himself for the brunt of the impact.

"Father!" the girl shouted excitedly after gazing at the tactician's face.

Robin couldn't hide his grimace; that shout was everything he had been afraid of.

The tactician would have to marry soon, and he did not consider it an amusing prospect.

The enthusiastic girl ran to Robin and embraced him tightly. The tactician felt a little awkward, but answered her embrace in kind. After all, it was very likely indeed that the girl was his child.

Besides, Robin had never had any memory of his family.

He could only create new ones.

"Hey", he answered, and was granted a benevolent smile that lifted his spirits up immensely. _Is this how it feels like to have children_, he wondered. _I would take two any day._

The cogs of his mind stopped turning; it felt to Robin like the moment had frozen in place.

_Damn it! Damn it all_, he cursed. _This is impossible!_

Yet there was no way to dispute the truth that Robin saw in front of himself.

The girl had the mark of the exalt on her right eye.

"Father, is something wrong?" she asked, appearing rather worried.

"Do not mind him, he is in shock", Chrom said to her, approaching from the distance.

"How is that a good thing?" the girl asked him. "And who _are_ you?"

The prince rubbed his forehead. "You may know my daughter Lucina better, if you hail from the future", he said and frowned. The girl beheld him and moved between Robin and the prince.

"I am not from the future", she stated shortly, and proceeded to glare at Chrom. "And who is this Lucina? I have never heard of her."

The tactician jerked. Maybe there was hope after all.

"Quickly, you", he said to the girl – whom he would have to accept as his daughter at some point – while grabbing her shoulder. "Who is your mother?"

The girl glanced at them both, looking extremely troubled all of a sudden. She seemed almost… Afraid.

The very sight made Robin's heart bleed. He embraced her again – surprising the girl – and comforted her: "I do not know your fears, but you should not worry. I am here for you." It sounded almost as if he was comforting someone who had lost his friend, and that felt natural to him. _I guess looking after my friends was not a complete waste of a time,_ Robin thought sarcastically. He patted the girl's purple hair, and heard her whimper ever so slightly.

"I guess I am not a special case anymore", Chrom said to him. Robin snorted.

"Apparently."

"Now, if only we knew her mother", Chrom said, flashing a devious grin. Robin shuddered.

_Gods, do not let this man find out about the mother,_ he prayed in his mind. He would not hear the end of it, especially if anyone heard that she had the brand.

Robin would have to show it to Chrom, of course.

However, he absolutely did not want to.

"Father", the girl said, facing him once again. "I do not remember… my own mother."

_But I know who she is_, Robin thought grimly and hid his reaction deep inside his being.

There was only one possible person, because the girl wore the brand. There was a problem, however.

Robin would never marry Lucina.

* * *

Off-topic: I have a feeling that my Thoron-chant was not original, as I may have heard it before. But if no one comes forth with copyright claims, I will keep it here, 'cause it is AWESOME!


	7. Chapter 7

Off-topic: OUCH. This chapter. Ah well, at least it is done, and is readable. I really hope that I can get the next chapter right, 'cause if I can do that, we can continue to Regna Ferox(for reasons stated in the story). I have some RATHER curious antics for Owain, when he appears in the story, and then what will happen between him, Cynthia and Morgan(The Justice Cabal)

Of course, I do intend to advance the main story, but the next chapter is going to be integral in building the relationships(Especially between certain two - or three - main characters). I had MUCH trouble in getting the voices right, but I think that I did make a decent job with it. This is probably one of the most polished chapters that I have posted on Fanfiction, ever.

Enjoy, and please send me your critique if it is clearly apparent that this chapter was weaker than the others.

**Oh, and that trick to the mazes is actually true, try it out :P**

* * *

**Everlasting bonds: Wings of despair**

_The hidden brand_

* * *

It took them a while to explain Morgan – it was the girl's given name - that she was, in fact, from the future. The turning point in the conversation was when Robin asked her to compare his present self to the father that Morgan remembered. There were some astonishing revelations after that – who would have thought that Robin would grow a beard – but the conversation came to its natural end when they started to think about the present predicament; they were lost.

"I am out of ideas", Chrom confessed to them both and scratched his itching neck. "I should have taken pebbles to mark our path", he continued. The humid air of the ruins started to make Robin feel chilly.

"We should focus on our current situation, not wallow in the past", he told Chrom, shuddering and feeling tired from thinking so intensely. The tactician wanted to jump into his sleeping bag and forget what had happened during the day.

Robin did not, however, wish for his daughter to disappear. His time with Morgan had shown that she had very charming qualities, of which her intellect was not the least. The girl was, to put it simply, a genius. She had a keen mind for all things tactical, and it harbored many mysteries that had been apparently taught to her by future-Robin.

_I can only hope that I do not mind that she is here now, _Robin thought. Then the tactician wondered whether he had phrased his thoughts correctly; it was such a difficult thing to talk about one's future self in past tense. The whole thing was as difficult to do as it sounded.

Morgan stood near the corner, avoiding eye-contact with Chrom. Robin had taken her aside when Chrom had gone to scout ahead, and asked her not to reveal the mark to anyone for now. Morgan had apparently become slightly offended, as she did not speak to Robin anymore after that.

The tactician felt rather anxious about the fact. It was apparent that Morgan carried her own sorrows, that she never showed, but he could not help with those if she continued to keep silent.

He sighed.

"You _are_ different, father", Robin heard his daughter say. "Can you not solve such a simple puzzle anymore?" she asked, and shook her head. The enigmatic - yet charming - girl walked to the tactician with balanced steps that were so graceful that one had to assume she had practiced her footwork a lot. As Robin wondered what she would do, Morgan took his left hand and laid it to the wall on his left side.

"There. Now we can get out of here", she told him and grinned.

But Robin was not convinced. "I do not see your logic", he said to Morgan, doubting that her trickery would do them any good.

The girl smirked. _Do I look the same when I do that_, Robin wondered gazing at Morgan's honest and trusting expression, _because if I do, I should be married already._

Marriage. Courting. This was wrong on every level; it had all been turned upside down.

And the worst thing about it was that Robin had no one with whom he could talk about this.

"You are to keep that hand against the wall till we are out", Morgan said. Chrom chuckled from behind them.

"It appears she wants to play with you, Robin", he said.

_I promise I will get you the next time you try spar with Lucina_, Robin swore in his mind and continued to interrogate Morgan.

"And this helps… how?"

"'Each and every maze can be solved by keeping one's left hand against the wall, and never letting go before one reaches the exit'", Morgan quoted. "You taught me that."

_I can see myself grow into a much more insufferable person_, Robin thought bitterly, _or one with more wisdom. Gods help us all if those two are one and the same._

"That is amazing, Morgan", Chrom said. "What else can you do?"

"She can fly, obviously", Robin said. "Look, Chrom, she is mine. Go play with your own kid."

"I see", Chrom answered, nodding in self-awareness. "You are finally getting to that age when you start to limit each and every activity of your child in fear of losing her. As a friend, I understand your concern; however, she is not here for you Robin." There was a sparkle of humor in Chrom's eyes, as he said those words.

"Hands. Off", Robin said, answering in kind, yet not growing offended. It was all a friendly jest.

"Fine, be like that, then."

"You bet I will", Robin said and turned his head forward.

Then the tactician began to walk ahead, holding his left hand softly against the damp wall.

* * *

"This will do nicely", Lucina concluded and set her quill aside. The paper in front of her was full of names – those of the future children – and had a royal command for people mentioned to arrive to Regna Ferox in the period of next two moons. It had Ylisse's royal seal on it, making its orders irrevocable once they were out. She intended to send the messengers tonight, with copies of the paper, to spread the word in villages and cities all around Ylisse.

The children would come together again.

Lucina sighed and leaned backwards in her willow chair. It was not comfortable – as cushions would get dirty in only a few days – but it was more than their camp-sites had in the future. The former crown-princess wondered whether she would ever return there. _Perhaps not_, she thought. Lucina had longed to be with her parents, and now that she was here there was no price she would not pay to keep them alive.

But she did not want to see any more death among her friends. _Even that tactician seems like a decent man_, she thought. It was an odd sentiment, one that had started to appear in her mind more and more often. _And yet he is most probably the one that killed my father. Who _will _kill my father._

She rose from her chair, deciding that fresh air would be a welcome change to these thoughts that she had.

* * *

There was a ruckus in the camp.

Lucina gazed around herself, trying to find someone to ask about it. Conveniently, Frederick was around, giving orders to a pair of horsemen. The knight himself was not an officer, but he had authority that stemmed from years of dealing with royalty.

"Frederick", Lucina hailed from distance, and approached him. The armored knight turned around, bowing slightly in respect. "Milady", he answered in his usual manner that showed familiarity, yet was servile. The knight flicked his hand at the two horsemen who departed in haste.

Lucina frowned at Frederick's words; she was not accustomed to respectful behavior. In the future whom where she hailed from people had always called her by her name. The respect that these people gave her felt undeserved and false. She decided to talk to her father about it sometime.

"What's this commotion? Has something happened?" she asked Frederick and received a worried nod from him.

"Your father and Robin have gone missing. We have sent people to look for them, but the sun is setting down." Frederick seemed troubled. "They might be in danger, milady."

_It is too early, _Lucina thought, feeling fear spread its cold cloak over her again. _It cannot be happening yet!_

Was it possible? Could it be that she had already changed the past so much that the events had begun accelerating towards their culmination?

"Have you agreed on the sign that will tell the seekers that my father has been found?" Lucina asked quickly.

"Yes, milady. It will be three blasts of lightning magic towards the sky", Frederick answered.

"And if the Risen attack?"

"Three blasts of fire towards the sky. If I may ask, milady, what is it that you are planning?" Frederick asked, frowning of suspicion.

"To which direction did they go?" Lucina asked, ignoring his question.

"Milady…"

"Answer me!" she commanded, unable to stand the wait. For all she knew, her father was going to be killed.

"To north", Frederick answered. "But milady, at least take someone wit-"

Lucina could hear him no more, for she had already turned around and dashed towards the stables.

* * *

After hours of walking the entrance was such a sight on their sore eyes that even the brightness of setting sun did not diminish its glory. Robin – who was filled with gratefulness - turned around and grabbed Morgan in his crushing embrace.

"Such a smart girl you are", he said, smiling proudly.

"… brea…the…" Morgan struggled to say, attempting to free her head from the tactician's over-enthusiastic hold. Chrom was standing behind them, wisely silent. Robin would have given him a hard time, had the prince so much as uttered a word.

He finally let Morgan go of his embrace, and she immediately began to smooth her coat that had become wrinkled in the process. The tactician chuckled at her; he oftentimes did the same after battles, to make himself appear more composed than he really was. He wondered if they shared any other habits.

Chrom, however, gazed at the horizon, frowning. "We have to get back to the camp. They must all be very worried."

"Camp?" Morgan asked sounding rather delighted. "Father, are you on a trip?"

"It is not as fun as it sounds like, Morgan. It is a camp full of scary and hairy fellows", Robin said. "During the night you can hear them shout and drink like the worst of seamen, and when the morning comes…"

"When the morning comes…?" Morgan asked eagerly.

"They lie all around the camp, snoring worse than Chrom here does", Robin said and laughed.

"They would never do that", Chrom retorted, frowning his eyebrows. He was always rather defensive of Shepherds.

"But you do", Robin concluded, smiling smugly and earning himself a glare from the crown prince of Ylisse.


	8. Chapter 8

Off-topic: That was so hard. I am amazed that it became as good as it is. Also, my grasp of English language is slowly becoming better, although I have a big problem in the fact that I repeat many expressions. I have to start reading English dictionaries to learn new ones :P.(or the one that I have right now, one about idioms)

But hey, we are here now, and the next one will be... not big in length, but certainly in other aspects.

I hope. Also, please answer this one question in the comments: Did I get the character's voices right?

One more thing. I think I will do an interesting experiment with these characters at some point(I have this thing about changing certain aspects about characters and adding some), and we shall see where it leads us. Also, I think that you can safely expect more viewpoints in the battles(Owain's is going to become very interesting).

ENJOY!

* * *

**Everlasting bonds: Wings of despair**

_Four blasts of lightning_

* * *

"_It will... not be… much longer…"_ the tactician mumbled in exhaustion. Robin had – in his own opinion – walked enough to last for a lifetime. First there was an hour's trip to the ruins, then at least four hours of wandering inside – plus one battle – and on top of that there was still the unfinished hour's trip back to the camp. Robin's whole being shouted for mercy with his every step, but he forced himself forward; he had to show an example to the younger generation.

The tactician glanced at Morgan, who had yet to break a sweat; then he turned to look at Chrom. The prince seemed somewhat tired, but was by no means exhausted. There was certain lightness to his steps, even after this many hours of travel. Robin shook his head and let it drop with a sigh.

The two people that he was traveling with were - to put it harshly - monsters.

Morgan stared at him. "Father, you are out of practice", she rebuked him. "What would you do if bandits attacked us?"

_That question sounds all too familiar,_ Robin thought.

Chrom nodded at Morgan. "That is what I keep telling Robin", he said.

_So _that_'s where I have heard it before_.

"He also reads too much and sleeps during the day", he continued, shrugging his well-trained shoulders and letting out an exaggerated sigh. "Our tactician leads an unhealthy lifestyle."

_Do not ruin her good impression of me, _Robin screamed mentally and glared at the prince. Morgan turned to gaze at the tactician, her deep blue eyes almost like a deep well full of disappointment. Apparently, she had become rather disenchanted with her father.

Robin sighed.

"Fine", he said, "I promise to spar with you, starting from tomorrow." He _was_ out of practice, and felt that some training would help him get back in shape. But there was another, more important reason Robin did this for; he did not want to lose Morgan's remaining respect.

His daughter's innocent eyes started to gleam with anticipation. She turned her head forwards and started to hum an unfamiliar tune, kicking small pebbles off the trail.

Tomorrow would prove to be interesting to them both.

* * *

A band of horsemen stood upon the hill, surveying the landscape below. Their apparent leader stood in the helm of the formation, blinking his eyes in a lazy fashion.

There was no refuting the fact, that Stahl always did a competent job. He simply had a great love for pleasures of the world - of which food was the greatest – to the point that it distracted his work. Even at the very moment a pair of muffins floated on the background of his mind, while his eyes tried to catch a glimpse of the prince and his tactician. They had been gone for hours now, and no one knew where they were.

"Stahl", one of the horsemen said, "what if the prince is dead?"

Stahl turned to address the question. Man that had spoken it aloud was in his twenties, young and without much experience. It was no wonder then, that he was so scared.

The young soldier also did not know Chrom, at least not like Stahl did.

"Chrom is not dead", Stahl answered, "and besides, our tactician is with him. If those two do not survive, I promise to eat a full serving of Sully's cooking."

Men murmured in acceptance. Stahl had a tendency to inspire hope in desperate situations.

A flash lightning rumbled in the distance. Stahl squinted his eyes. It had flashed only once.

What could it possibly mean?

"Captain?" one of his men asked. He had noticed the same.

The young leader of the horsemen made his decision.

"We ride!" Stahl shouted to his squad, launching into full gallop down the hill. His men followed, forming a tight wedge that had Stahl as its spearhead.

* * *

"Why on earth did you do that, Morgan?" the tactician asked, looking at the charred bear. It had been felled by Morgan from the distance.

"But you always told us to life off the nature, whenever able", Morgan answered, and Robin shook his head. Future-Robin was becoming more and more distant persona in his mind.

_Wait…_

"Morgan, who did you mean by us?" he asked.

"What do you mean, me and moth- NRRRGH-"

Suddenly, Morgan was assaulted by a tremor of pain.

"Morgan!" Robin shouted, running to her and grabbing the girl by the shoulders. "What is it?"

"-arg… Ah… I really cannot... remember her, father", Morgan said, holding her head and sobbing. Robin felt powerless when confronted by her pain, but he tried to comfort her by taking her into his arms again.

"Robin, we will soon be-", Chrom shouted from the distance, but his words came to a sudden halt when he saw the bear.

"I do not think that I can really stand another bite of bear meat", he said, gazing at the beast's charred body in unbelief. Then the prince turned his face upwards, to look at the tactician who held his daughter.

"One would think", he said jokingly, "that the two of you would have had enough embraces to last at least two lifetimes."

Robin gave his friend a 'not now, you idiot' glare. The prince lifted his hands up in apology, muttering something under his breath. The tactician made Morgan his focus again.

"Are you alright now? And if it is about your mother, that is a problem that I can solve for you", Robin whispered to her.

"How?" Morgan muttered from his arms.

"It will probably be a rather painful experience, but I _do_ have a way to get in contact with her", the tactician answered. Morgan turned her eyes to Robin in surprise.

"Really?!" she asked in excitement, almost jumping out of his arms. Robin nodded in resign.

He would do it, because Morgan was his daughter. No other reason would have ever forced him to go through such a thing.

But that moment had yet to come.

They could hear – and before that, feel – tremble of the hooves closing in on them. All three turned to face it.

First of the riders appeared from between the surrounding trees. It was Stahl.

Then the rest of them burst out from behind the trees, surrounding them and greeting in a delighted manner.

"Prince Chrom!"

"Welcome back, tactician."

"Who's the lady?"

Morgan looked at them all, moving around in excited manner. She nodded to the people that greeted her, going as far as giving each one of them a wide grin.

Robin chuckled. Morgan would quickly make her way into the hearts of soldiers with her honest and charming demeanor. It was immediately apparent that the girl would become immensely liked in the camp.

Why, there could even be suitors.

Robin opened his palm – which he had clenched into a fist – again. He could now understand how Chrom would feel about Morgan, and about Lucina. The pain of losing one's daughter would become rather painful.

He hung his head down.

_It still have to tell them about Morgan_, Robin thought to himself. _The faster it is done, the better. I may not need to marry Lucina, but she needs to know. And Morgan needs to know about her._

The tactician felt for his daughter's pain; she had no memory of her mother and was stuck with a father who had no idea how to deal with the situation.

_Although she does not hate me, _Robin thought. That was good. Their relationship had better building blocks than Robin's relationship with his probable father had.

_We can build a new future for all of us._

Robin rose from his thoughts just in time to participate in the conversation that had started between Stahl and Chrom.

"We sought you for hours", the young cavalier explained as he dismounted, no apparent relief on his face. _He must be more carefree than I ever imagined, _Robin thought.

"And we encountered some trouble, as well as a new recruit", Chrom said, nodding towards Morgan. Stahl smiled, and greeted the young woman who smiled back.

"I am Stahl, one of Chrom's captains", he introduced himself to Morgan.

"I am Morgan", she answered, "Robin's daughter."

Stahl frowned – which was very uncharacteristic for him – and glanced at the tactician.

Jolt of fear ran through Robin's body.

"How strange", Stahl stated, "I could have_ sworn_ that you were Chrom's child."

"She does not even look like me", Chrom exclaimed. Stahl nodded, still frowning.

"That is true. However, she bears mark of the exalt on her right eye."

"That is not possible", Chrom said firmly. Then he glanced at Robin, who rubbed his temple as if in pain.

"I was planning on telling you soon", the tactician told Chrom, avoiding his eyes.

The crown prince of Ylisse darted forwards, and lifted Morgan's chin to look at her eyes. At this point, the young woman remembered again that she was supposed to avoid gazes, and refused to face Chrom's eyes.

"Look at me, young lady", Chrom commanded her. Morgan shook her head in what could have only been fear.

Robin proceeded to lay his hand on her shoulder. "It is alright, you do not have to hide it anymore", the tactician said soothingly, and gave his daughter's shoulder an encouraging squeeze.

Slowly, Morgan lifted her deep blue eyes to meet Chrom's. The prince of Ylisse gazed at her wordlessly, unable to say anything. Men of the cavalry also stood silent, as if to respect the moment.

After a long moment Robin broke the silence.

"Chrom, this is Morgan, my daughter", he said, "also your granddaughter."

* * *

Off-topic: I am almost sure that you will like that ending, but remember to tell me if the thing is really so. Thanks for reading.

I may take the whole weekend off(very possible), but I will add a new chapter on Monday.


	9. Chapter 9

Off-topic: My goodness, another chapter already? Whew. This one was easier, but I worry that it's quality isn't all that high. I changed my writing style to write in a more evocative manner, but I am not sure whether or not I succeeded in it. Remember to leave feedback.

* * *

**Everlasting Bonds: Wings of Despair**

_Is this my family?_

* * *

Three flashes of lightning illuminated the already dark sky.

The whole camp sighed in relief. Some of the soldiers shouted in joy, while others settled for a small smile, and continued tending to their duties.

However…

* * *

"Ah, I was so terrified", Lissa said, hand on her breast. The relief that this camp was experiencing was most apparent on her face; her eyes were closed, and she wore a small smile. "I would not have known what to do if they'd not come back."

Lon'qu nodded, gazing at the aftereffects of the lightning. He probably didn't find it necessary to say anything. Lissa certainly didn't mind. Her husband would speak if a need arose.

Until then, she intended to stand there and be glad about the fact that this day had had a happy ending.

Clatter of hooves could be heard in the perimeter. They stopped only once, for reasons unknown; then the clatter sounded anew. A single horseman was approaching them, fast.

What kind of thing did this bode for them? The two certainly did not know.

They waited for the horseman to dismount. It was one of the younger recruits, with fair locks and a handsome face, and one that was most certainly not the type to usually be found on the battlefield.

However, he was already a soldier, as was demonstrated by the man's salute to his betters; not that they considered themselves his betters. Lissa's family was rather eccentric in how it treated the people that swore fealty to them.

There were no princes and princesses among the Shepherds; only men and women of equal standing.

"Princess Lissa."

However, there were still some people who had yet to learn the full meaning behind the royal family's actions.

"Lis-sa", she corrected the soldier in stern manner. "Two syllables, without the delicate part."

"I… mentioned nothing about delicacy, princess", the young soldier stammered, unable to answer her rebuke.

"You said princess", Lissa said, holding her hands to her hips and pursing her lips together. "That's what's delicate about it."

"My apologies… milady", the fair soldier said, and bowed in accordance to his words.

"Lissa, you are scaring him", Lon'qu – who had stopped gazing at the night sky – said to her. Lissa leered at him.

"But I am not delicate!" Lissa retorted to Lon'qu, puffing her cheeks up like a blowfish. Lon'qu had long since decided that it was probably one of her childhood defense mechanisms that she had forgotten to forget.

However, Lissa certainly did not look awful when her lips bulged like the aforementioned fish. There was a certain amount of charm to it, something that did not come from her childish behavior, but rather from the innocence and gullibility behind it.

"Then we will have bear meat for the supper", Lon'qu said, to make his point. Lissa's face contorted in disgust.

"I am not delicate, and I hate bear meat!" she declared, and faced away from Lon'qu, pouting.

The foreign swordsman sighed and turned towards the soldier. "I apologize for that", he said, and continued: "Tell me your message."

The soldier's astonishment quickly turned into a military salute. "Sir. We have been told that you and the prin…"

The soldier gave a quick glance towards brooding Lissa, who was facing away from them both. "…and milady are to meet the prince at his tent immediately."

"Did he mention any reasons?" Lon'qu asked. The soldier shook his head, and said a quick "_No"_.

"You are free to leave, then", Lon'qu concluded.

The soldier bowed once, and mounted his horse. It was not long before he had ridden away, leaving the slightly confused couple behind.

* * *

Chrom had made sure that his tent was just like everyone else's. He did not like class-differences or fancy titles, so there was no reason for him to have a fancy tent either. It had a simple willow table, three ash chairs and a rack for Chrom's weapons; nothing outside or inward indicated that it belonged to the leader of Shepherds.

One of the chairs was currently occupied by a young woman that wore the already familiar tactician's coat and had purple hair, making it apparent that she was indeed Robin's daughter. However, she had held other surprises as well; Chrom had come to know those only a dozen minutes prior to this moment. He had yet to make the information official.

However, the woman's family would have to be informed; thus, he had decided to call a meeting for the royal family of Ylisse. Amusingly, that also meant that Lon'qu - the foreign mercenary that had become rather infatuated with Chrom's own sister, to the point of marrying her – would participate. Chrom himself certainly was not against it; he knew that the swordsman was trustworthy. Besides, Lon'qu's marriage with Lissa only strengthened the ties between Regna Ferox and Ylisse. And who knew, maybe one day…

His thoughts were cut short when Robin stepped into his tent again, followed by Lissa and Lon'qu. Chrom's sister began to smooth her apparel, but halted when her eyes met Morgan's.

There was a silence of unknown implications.

Then, suddenly, the always energetic princess shouted in surprise.

"Eeeeeeeeeeeh?!"

Robin closed his eyes, and Chrom himself shook his head.

"Who… Who is she?!" Lissa asked, unable to control her own astonishment.

"You will know soon enough", Chrom answered, knowing that her appetite would not be sated with such an off-handed comment. It was still all that he had to give, for now.

"What? Why not tell me now?" Lissa asked.

"Because we are still waiting for someone", Robin answered patiently.

"Then I hope he arrives soon", Lissa answered, and continued to stare Morgan silently, while Lon'qu slowly backed off to the furthest corner from the mysterious woman.

Chrom was - once again - surprised by Robin's ability to calm his overeager sister down; the tactician had a remarkable ability to understand human heart.

Chrom did not know whether he knew it himself, though.

The prince saw the tactician whisper something to Morgan. He could only hear one word, but it had certainly been enough, considering Morgan's wide-eyed reaction.

_Great-aunt._

Chrom hid his smile inside his palm. He tried to imagine Lissa's flabbergasted reaction when she would hear the true reason of this meeting; a high pitched shriek hurting their ears, her eyes bulging and slender jaw hanging wide open.

The prince found himself quickly wishing that his daughter's reactions would not be quite as overblown.

The tent door flapped aside in one movement to reveal the slender form of Lucina, huffing and her eyes going through the whole tent in a matter of seconds.

"Father, you are well!" she cried out in relief. Her eyes were almost in tears, withheld only by an invisible wall of will.

_She needs rest,_ Chrom thought. _And yet, will any of us sleep an eyeful after this conversation?_

The direct descendant in the long line of exalts stepped in from outside. Her gaze traveled from Lissa to Lon'qu – who had reared his metaphorical fort in one corner of the tent – and then to her father, and finally to the two persons that were near the chairs; the two that looked so much alike.

Chrom could see her frown, and gazed at Robin in worry. The tactician nodded to him.

"Morgan, would you show this woman the ring that you showed Chrom?" Robin asked, and Morgan nodded. She opened one of the many pockets that her coat held, and put her hand in, picking up an onyx ring that was decorated by a certain well-known seal. Its age was revealed by the black surface that was marked by countless scrapes and scratches.

The ring and its seal were something that they had all seen at least once, either by glance or a conscious decision.

"How… can this possibly be?" Lucina asked in amazement, comparing the ring to one that she held in her right hand. Everything - from its long scrapes to small nicks that had come from sharp objects – matched. They were the very same object.

"There are three of these rings present here, now", Chrom stated, lifting his hand to show others the ring that he wore. "This one that I wear as the… crown prince", he said with effort. "Then there is yours, Lucina. And finally…"

Robin began to stroke his jaw nervously. Morgan's deep blue eyes had become even more wide-eyed than before and Lissa had been truly taken by surprise; she simply stared at them all, dumbfounded.

"There is Morgan's ring, given to her by you as a sign of our successive bloodline."

"That is…" Lucina tried to say, but her words died out. She gazed at Morgan intensely, facing the brand in her eyes and everything that she was.

"Mot…her?"

The voice that came out from Morgan's lips was weak and insecure. It sounded like the wind, finally hoping to settle, but unsure whether such a thing would ever be possible.

Lucina's eyes softened when she heard her words. She knelt down to face her eyes, drawing the girl then to her embrace.

Lucina did not fear that Morgan's tears would mar her clothes, only that her embrace would not be enough for the girl.

Yet such a fear was unfounded; the girl tightened her arms around Lucina, sobbing and repeating one word again and again.

_Mother!_

People standing around the unfolding scene were all awestruck. Even Lon'qu had slowly sneaked to Lissa's side, despite his natural gynophobia.

"One more thing", Chrom added, catching their attention despite all the natural drama.

Robin began to gesture intensely, moving his hand across his own throat in quick, slitting movements. _No more, cut it out._

Chrom ignored the tactician; Robin had, after all, hidden Morgan's true identity from him.

"When we found Morgan, we found out that her father is also here, among the Shepherds", Chrom said, while his gaze traveled to each person in the room; after going through the others it settled down on the tactician. Chrom gave him a mischievous grin that was so damning that each and every person in the tent turned around to look at Robin.

It took them some time to understand the intent behind Chrom's smile, but when it became finally clear, everything changed.

* * *

Off topic: Remember that you aren't allowed to spoil in the reviews! It might ruin the story for other readers. If you want to give a more detailed review, either omit details or PM me(either one is fine to me). Also, take this as a guideline, not as rebuke.

Thank you for reading this chapter, we shall see where our trip takes us next(I suspect that to Regna Ferox, BUT we might see ourselves already traversing the seas(if we do, then... brr, that is going to be really challenging).


	10. Chapter 10

Off-topic: I was almost frozen in fear while writing this :P. Seriously. All these rave reviews and awesome feedback, and I start to feel rather obligated to people. This chapter may have to be butchered, depending on the general analysis.

Its flow... may have suffered, let us say it this way. Once again, I'd really appreciate comments on this, and whether the flow actually sucked.

I know that I got some rather good moments in, too. Let us hope that you can enjoy it, too.

* * *

**Eternal bonds: Wings of despair**

_Hatred without basis_

* * *

It was regular afternoon in the camp. The sun warmed up those chilled by the wind, and people could be seen around, resting. Their journey had been halted, and no one knew why.

There were rumors going around, saying that their tactician was the reason for it, that he too had found a daughter from the distant, unreachable future.

And sometimes the most outrageous rumors were true.

There was certainly something same about the two persons that tested their mettle on the practice grounds, gathering more than a few onlookers. It could have been the eye-catching purple hair, or the coat with purple markings that both of them wore. It could have been their eyes and the way with which they beheld each other; how they sought weaknesses in each other's stances like their sparring was a grand game of tactics.

But one thing became quickly clear to everyone that stopped to watch the spectacle; these two were not the same when it came to their skills. One beat the other single-handed, leaving him to eat dust every time their swords exchanged blows.

It was the girl who triumphed every time.

* * *

Robin spat grass from his mouth.

"Father, are you… alright?" a voice said from above. It was the same voice that had asked that same question for at least eight times already. Morgan must have thought him weak.

Then again, Robin _was_ feeling rather bruised at the moment, so maybe her worry was warranted.

"I am not", he answered in frustration, laying on his back and sensing the cold and clumpy ground beneath the grass. "Why do I keep losing?" the tactician continued, troubled by the fact that Morgan's answer had always been the same.

His daughter sighed deep, fondling her short – and now disordered – hair again.

"You need more practice", she answered flatly, and Robin gave an agonizing grunt. The tactician rolled on his stomach and rose up in staggering manner.

Robin found himself hoping that he had more stamina to spend. He feared that the rest of his duties would suffer because of his promise to spar with his daughter. _That should teach you to give such off-handed promises, _Robin thought. _Next time though, make sure that you are at least a sufficient match for the girl, or stick to your chess pieces._

"Could you not ask grandfather to spar with you, and maybe give some pointers?" Morgan asked him. "He should be much better swordsman than me."

"_Very possible, considering that you are actually a swordswoman"_, Robin muttered, holding his head. Morgan gave the tactician a soft leer, the kind that was not meant to hurt or offend.

"The geezer is busy enough without me butting into his business", Robin added quickly, avoiding her gaze. "Besides, our travels were halted for a reason; maybe Chrom wants to have his rest after all these subsequent revelations."

"But father, you cannot go to the battlefield in this condition", Morgan shouted adamantly. "You will really die!" She pursed her lips tight, and held her forearm in a highly insecure manner. All of it made Robin's being ache.

_She really fears the possibility of loss_, the tactician thought.

"Alright, alright", he said to Morgan comfortingly, "I will do as you ask of me, and seek Chrom's advice on my swordsmanship."

Morgan nodded, but it took the girl a while to come back from her fear-filled state. Once that happened, however, her demeanor suggested once again that nothing could ever go wrong.

Robin intended to make sure that Morgan stayed that way.

* * *

"I do not honestly think that I can find time for that, Robin", Chrom answered the tactician's request, facing away from him. Robin frowned at his words; at this rate there would be no cure for Morgan's situation.

"Needs of the Shepherds have grown rather pressing", Chrom continued, "and absorb most of my effort during these days. Although I truly wish that I could… Aha!"

Suddenly the crown prince of Ylisse spun around, pointed at Robin's chest and declared:

"You could always ask my daughter's help with your training, hmm?"

His face was the spitting image of pride that came with one's ideas. Robin, however, was not amused.

"I bet you are applauding yourself", the tactician stated angrily, because all of this had been far too easy for his friend to do.

Chrom smiled at his sarcastic comment.

Robin mulled over his thoughts, trying to find some kind of counter-argument to present Chrom with.

He found out that there was actually nothing he could say against Chrom's irritating suggestion.

It was indeed far too convenient.

* * *

The golden sword crashed against the training dummy with voluminous force, doing something truly horrible to it; splinters flew by the force of the blow, as the sword grinded against the wood till it finally stopped again.

Lucina's Falchion had gone through the practice dummy in one strike, effectively sawing it in two and leaving others to gaze in horror at the deed done. Such destruction was one of the bad habits that came from her father's side; it quickly manifested itself in times of extreme stress or emotional duress. Suffice to say that the future had not had many practice dummies left when Lucina had finally departed to the past.

_That man, _she thought._ That man!_

The sword swung again, lacking as much hesitation as the executioner's axe.

_He cannot be… He will not be!_

Falchion met the bottom of the already destroyed training dummy, and the resulting crash boomed across the training yard.

_I will never accept that man as my husband!_

What happened next could only be explained as a trick of the mind, or perhaps an illusion; the bottom of the already destroyed dummy flew unbelievably far to the left, till it finally hit ground, jumping and bumping around till its rare exercise in movement came to its definite end.

Lucina exhaled angrily. She was tired, sweaty and also had serious trouble forgetting the man that seemed to invade her mind at the most inopportune moments; the purple haired tactician that had appeared from nowhere to her father's life and held what was possibly the most important position there.

Lucina found herself desperately hoping that the word _possibly_ would quickly find some new meanings in her mother tongue.

She had to wonder, though; if the tactician was to become such a threat, then what would happen to poor Morgan? Would she be doomed to live, remembering that her father had done such a monstrous deed; killing his closest friend, who was also Lucina's father?

Lucina shuddered. _Morgan should _never _be exposed to such a thing,_ she thought.

The young girl held a strange place in the crown princess's heart. Lucina had not yet fully accepted the girl as her daughter, but she still wanted to protect her from threats that could possibly destroy her. Lucina was – to her knowledge – trying to act like a true mother would, even without knowing much about such things.

"You two are notoriously bad with equipment, but I never ima-", the familiar and utterly despicable voice said from behind her. Lucina swung Falchion backwards in reflex, intending to stop it on the man's throat. Her sword, however, stopped against something metallic, causing a resounding _clang._

As Lucina turned around, she found the tactician flatly staring at her. She felt a compulsive need to apologize rising, but squashed it under the iron boots of will. She would never apologize to this man.

Lucina stared at the tactician, trying to force him to act first and show some kind of weakness. She was successful, as the man began to gesture towards his sword that had blocked Lucina's strike.

"Oh, this?" he asked in an almost exaggerated manner, "Pay no heed to it. It is only there to make sure that _you would not kill me! _Seriously, you must have some _issues_ if you are that ready to strike at your own ally!"

Lucina frowned. This was hardly the reaction that she had suspected from the man.

"Do not sneak up on me", she said. "I am accustomed to fighting against Risen ambushes. Approach me from the front if you are on honest business."

"I will do so the next time, but only to see how fast you can rip me to shreds", the tactician answered sharply, and Lucina quickly found herself rather disturbed by the man's snarky act. She also found it strange that her father's murderer would gather attention on himself by speaking like he did. _Probable murderer, _Lucina corrected herself. _Better be safe than sorry._

"State your business", she said in a mildly commanding tone. It was the kind that expected obedience without any trickery, and had its basis on trust between the conversing persons. As such, it was hardly appropriate for them, but Lucina did not want to further offend her father's tactician.

It took a while for the man to finally answer, for he had sunk into thought. _I would give my left eye to know what he is thinking now, _Lucina thought grimly._ No, perhaps my left arm would be better sacrifice. I might need both of the eyes later._

The tactician lifted his eyes to meet Lucina's, without any kind of trickery or gaze-averting.

"I suppose you know that I started sparring with Morgan?" he asked.

"I do. And?" she asked, hiding the fact that she had not actually known about it at all.

"She bested me nine times out of ten, with one match ending in draw", the tactician said. Lucina gave a short laugh.

"You must be horrible with your sword", she concluded, but the man shook his head.

"How do you propose that I survived all the battles with your father, then?" he asked, frowning. "Your argument is invalid, and all credit from my loss goes to Morgan; she is a terror with _her_ sword."

"I still do not understand why you tell me all this", Lucina said to the tactician, turning sideways.

"To put it simply", the man said slowly, "I would ask you to spar with me, regularly, so that I can defeat Morgan in our sparring matches."

"You want to appease your wounded _pride_?" Lucina asked, unable to believe what she had just heard. "You are _despicable_!"

"No, I…" the man stammered.

And then, for once, he was lost for words.

* * *

Off-topic: Yeah, this will end in the next chapter. I do find it amusing how almost all chapters are cut in almost exact word count.

I hope you enjoyed it, I'll be hearing for you.


	11. Chapter 11

Off-topic: THIS CHAPTER IS SOMETHING I'M PROUD OF! Prepare to be... Amazed?

Enjoy, and remember; no spoiling on the reviews, PM me if you want to go in depth about this chapter.

* * *

**Everlasting bonds: Wings of despair**

_Seeds of respect_

* * *

Robin struggled to get his thoughts in order.

He knew that Lucina disliked him; after yesterday's night, there was no reason to think otherwise. Those deep blue eyes of hers had burned through Robin, and venomous words had come out of her mouth.

"_You… You are the father?!"_

Robin gritted his teeth in frustration.

For whatever reason, Lucina seemed to take issue with him. It had not always been apparent, for she had once worn a mask.

And after it fell... Well, her eyes had been questioning at first, although Robin had not known why. Then they had turned into walls of glass, not intending to reveal intents behind. Or perhaps she had not known what to think of him.

During the last two years, however, Lucina seemed to have finally formed a definite opinion of him. Her eyes burned in anger now; anger, and darkest kind of scorn.

Such eyes were not meant to be, not among Shepherds and friends. At worst, they could destroy her. Robin wished that he could do _something_ about those eyes, but he had other pressing matters. Morgan had to be freed from her fears.

And the sooner, the better.

"My reasons are not as vain, as you think they are", Robin called out to Lucina, who was trying to walk away from their discussion. Her face was directed towards the other remaining practice dummies.

"I am doing this for my daughter, as unbelievable as it may sound", he continued, but Lucina did not stop her march. The tactician became increasingly desperate. "Lucina, I implore you, listen to me! Do it for Morgan's sake, if not for my own!"

The crown princess jerked almost indiscernibly and stopped, much to Robin's surprise. The tactician had not expected his plead to work. He decided to press on. "Morgan's ability with the sword is so profound", Robin said," that she has unrealistic expectations of a battlefield. She thinks that if I cannot defeat her in a sparring match, there is no place for me in the battle."

"It seems to me that you agree with her", Lucina answered, facing away from Robin. A light breeze had seized her hair, and waved it around in a soft rhythm.

"That is false. The problem lies with Morgan", Robin said. "She has an abnormal fear of loss. The poor girl becomes very emotional when facing the possibility of my death."

The crown princess became silent, and stood still for some time.

The tactician had no idea about what happened inside the young woman's mind during that time, but when she spoke again, her words had become starkly different.

"You wish to… remove her fears?" Lucina asked, sounding unsure. "To remove that which causes it?"

"That I do", Robin answered, hoping that Lucina would see reason. It would all become too slow, and too hard, otherwise. It took years to become a respectable warrior, if one trained alone. However, it would only take Robin a few months, if he sparred with one of the best.

Lucina groaned, and turned around to face him. Her eyes were different now; they looked past him, somewhere away, beholding something that was not present in the moment.

"I never spar with anyone", she said with sorrow, "I cannot."

One flick of the sword showed Robin the reason; it pointed at the recently departed practice dummy, or what was left of its bottom part.

Her intent became quickly clear. Robin would get hurt –and possibly die - if he continued on with his request.

The tactician, however, had come prepared.

"There is no reason for you to use Falchion", he said, shrugging his shoulders. "Wooden swords will do."

Lucina blinked at Robin in surprise. Apparently, she had not expected that answer.

Then she started laughing, and her voice chimed in the evening breeze like a dozen small bells.

* * *

There was a dark shape further back, looking at the two, but never intending to interfere. It was a man so regal that one would have immediately had him pegged as a noble, or possibly a ruler of some country.

"_You two had me worrying for a moment"_, the man muttered, shaking his head in relief. He turned around and began to walk away.

"_Now then, I wonder if Morgan would agree to spar with me_", he continued, and grinned. It would only be fair that Morgan received tutoring, too.

After all, it seemed like Robin had Lucina's approval.

* * *

Shepherds returned to their travels after a few days: their goal was to arrive to Regna Ferox before the end of the week. Highroads that they traversed were surprisingly safe, considering the fact that most of Regna Ferox's army had been decimated in Valm's first attempt to secure the continent.

It was during one of those days that sudden gusts of wind blasted through the camp, threatening to do away with their tents. Each time, the gusts died away as unnaturally as they had arrived. Mages became the prime suspects, as there wasn't any other sensible explanation for the freak weather.

The perpetrator, however, was someone held in high esteem among the Shepherds, and thus the matter was quietly laid to rest.

* * *

"He intends to bring magic to the spar, yet in the same breath promises to not use any offensive spells", Chrom exclaimed, "Sometimes he makes me wonder…"

Lucina smiled at her puzzled father. She knew why the tactician had asked for such rules on the sparring match with his daughter, but was not inclined to reveal the secret to her father. He would see it in time. They all would.

The two of them were standing at the edge of the designated practice grounds, gazing at Morgan and Robin who were preparing themselves for the upcoming spar. The distance between them was about twenty feet, crossable in one furious dash - although it would have been foolhardy – if one so desired.

Morgan was dressed as she always was, in her thick tactician's coat that was rather unpractical in the heat of Ferox weather. Land of extremes, scholars called it; freezing cold during the winter and searing hot during the summer. _No wonder it produces so mighty warriors, _Chrom thought.

Robin's outfit was the stranger one of the two. He had foregone the coat in favor of mobility and had tied two books to his sides, both green in color. Chrom figured that the arrangement enabled quicker spellcasting in the middle of a battle.

Battle, or a spar, but there was much more at stake here. Still, Chrom did not regret his choice to spar with Morgan. It would serve her well during the later battles, especially since the girl had no actual battle experience.

There was no actual sign that they had all agreed upon for the two to start their sparring. Things simply began, in the blink of an eye.

Morgan dashed towards her father, doing the foolish thing of crossing the distance far too quickly. Chrom was rather surprised at the fact that Robin did not capitalize on it; instead, he began chanting holding his left hand on one of the books.

_Chanting in the middle of a swordfight,_ the prince thought._ Has he gone mad?_

Robin's eyes claimed otherwise; they were focused on his opponent's weapon. The tactician dodged and weaved out of the way, using his wooden sword to deflect Morgan's blows, sometimes barely avoiding her sword's blunt, wooden edge.

All the while the chant continued on.

Morgan kept her pace, pushing furiously forward, punctuating her blows with strong yells.

Robin kept moving backwards, chanting and dodging.

Till his chanting came to an abrupt end.

Air around them began to condense, becoming something different and far more tangible. In a matter of seconds mist filled the whole practice field, making Chrom and Lucina unable to see the two fighters anymore.

Lucina gave a strange smile, even while unable to see anything. It made Chrom wonder.

"Did he get you with this trick?" he asked curiously. Lucina shook her head.

"Not this one", she answered, "but he did get me eventually." Her regular smile had changed into a proud one, something that Chrom did not dislike. It was, after all, increasingly possible that her smile held meanings far deeper than simple pride.

Or so Chrom hoped.

"So, you lost", he concluded. "I will have you know that I sparred with Morgan a few times, while you were off practicing with Robin."

Lucina sneered. "Did you teach her tactics, too?" she asked from Chrom. The prince gave his daughter a baffled look. "If not, Morgan will lose", Lucina said without any hesitation.

The exchange of the swords had stopped, and there was only one voice coming out of the mist now; it was yet another chant. However, this was a strange one; each syllable was pronounced twice, before moving on to the next one.

"Is… that even possible?" Chrom asked, stupefied.

Lucina gazed into mist, hunched for some reason. She never let her smile drop down. "His skill was never with the sword", she stated, "nor does it lie within the art of magic. Our tactician acts upon what he thinks to be his sole strength, focusing on his opponent's weaknesses and exploiting them."

One yell pierced the mists, Morgan's attempt to attack her enemy. She did not succeed in striking her opponent.

All the while Robin's chant increased in volume.

And then it ended again, as abruptly as before.

The mists were still there.

Everything was silent for a few moments.

And then someone dashed through the mists, attempting to strike at her enemy once more.

At the same time, two words of command were given in a row:

"Gale! Gale!"

Enormous gust of wind blasted itself outwards from the middle of the mist. Condensed moisture disappeared into thin air, dispersed by the force of the sudden gale that actually toppled Chrom from his feet.

Lucina, however, had held her balance.

"I'll have you know, father", she said calmly while facing the field, "that he got me _thrice_ with this trick."

Chrom blinked his eyes, and turned his head to look at the scene that had been revealed from the mists.

Morgan was there, lying on ground and unarmed. Robin stood above her, his sword on her throat. The tactician held a soft smile. "Do you yield, Morgan?" he asked.

Chrom could not see Morgan's reaction from the ground that he lay on, but he assumed it to be affirmative, for Robin gave her his hand. The young woman grabbed it gratefully, and rose up from the grassy ground.

Chrom also rose up, grunting in dissatisfaction. The whole exchange seemed a bit dodgy to him.

"Robin!" he shouted. "Didn't you two agree to use no offensive magic?"

The tactician lifted his eyebrows curiously. "I did not use my magic offensively, Chrom", he answered. "The only thing I used it for was to gather enough speed to close distances faster."

The prince frowned. Was Robin splitting hairs, now?

"You did topple Morgan with your spell", Chrom accused the tactician.

What Chrom received was a short smile. "Technically, that was _me_ ramming at her with ludicrous speed", Robin said, and chuckled.

Chrom gazed at his granddaughter, only to find out that Morgan was indeed holding her chest, trying to hide her rather pained expression.

Her face, however, was truly relieved.

Chrom turned to face his friend again. "Could you have won her without any of these tricks?" he asked, avoiding admonishing tone of voice; Robin had, after all, only done this for his daughter. Chrom could find no fault in that.

Robin pondered for a short moment, before giving his final answer.

"Could I win on the battlefield, without having any tricks up my sleeve?" the tactician answered, and his answer was something that Chrom found himself unable to argue with.

It was, after all, far too true.

* * *

Off-topic: Vóla. Yeah, it was rather curious piece, I am glad how I nailed the banter.

Once again, I'd like opinions of how the characters acted in your opinion, as well as general feedback.

Also, regular encouraging reviews are fine too :P

And this is not ending, that is not what I meant in the last chapter. What I meant that the "Morgan arc" ends, and a new one begins.

So, see you there. Waiting for your opinions, Xanedis.


	12. Chapter 12

Off-topic: I will get this out straight, so that I don't have to say it later. When the children come out, you will notice that their writing will be different from the game. That is because I only unlocked 4 of the children during my first playthrough(yeah, I was lazy). I can make them compelling, but they may not sound the same till I get to the same point in the game again, and start opening up the support conversations.

But none of the children yet, I promise.

Not.

No spoilers, do leave opinions, and give me opinions on voices again.

Oh, and I nailed Robin. I just know I did; it's Morgan that I am worried about :P

* * *

**Everlasting bonds: Wings of despair**

_Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder_

* * *

_There were no light sources apart from the eerie, flickering candlelight._

_It was a huge place, dominated by giant arches and pillars of immense size._

_Old. That is how I would have put it._

_So very old. So very cold._

_And full of malignant will._

_It was a place of nightmares, with black miasma swirling around the edge of the thing that seemed like an altar. I knew now for which god it was. I had not really wanted to know._

_Not that it really mattered anymore._

_It was all over._

_Blood of my closest friend already stained my hand, which I tried to grip in an attempt to regain control over myself._

_I was unable to do so._

_Flows of unshed tears threatened to rip me apart where I stood._

_Why?_

_WHY?!_

_WHY HIM?!_

_My eyesight was blurred by shocking pain, one that ran through my temples and tore my will apart._

_Once and for all. Through all the eternity._

_All my regrets would last beyond the shadow of death,_

_for I had lost to the fate, and was in a state far worse than any undeath._

* * *

"-AAAAAAH!" Robin shouted, bolting up from the bed that he had been sleeping on.

It was a room.

He was in a room.

It had…

It had all been just a nightmare, albeit a grueling and rather revolting one. Thinking about it made Robin feel nauseated. He still felt like some part of him was still there, watching through it all, making him feel all the emotions.

It was a horrible feeling.

Robin proceeded to firmly push the nightmare out of his mind. He absolutely did not need any distractions today, of all days. Shepherds were going to have their war council, and Robin did not want to be found unfit for his role; that of the strategist and tactician.

And so he rose up, and washed himself up with the water left in the basin. It was a luxury that Robin considered to be rather extravagant, but for now, he was glad for any time-saving options that he had. Besides, what kind of impression would it have made for, if the Shepherd's tactician came to the war council soaked in cold sweat?

Robin chuckled. They would have all been terrified out of their wits, and for all the wrong reasons.

Still, it never killed anyone to be in presentable condition; except when one was assassinated while grooming himself, of course. That would have been a rather sad state of affairs indeed.

The tactician dried himself quickly with a towel and dressed up. He wore his tactician's coat again, and beneath it simple cotton clothing. It was the projected image that would matter the most, not his clothing; however, whenever his demeanor lacked, the fancy coat would be there to patch things up.

That's how things worked for the tactician of Shepherds.

As he put finishing touches on his hair, the door was knocked on. Two soft – but firm – knocks.

"One moment", Robin said, forcing the last disobedient lock of hair down. Then he grunted in satisfaction.

"_Alright"_, he muttered, and walked to the door. Like many things in Ferox, it had a rough surface, and probably wasn't all that soft inside, either. Once in a while, however, Robin found something interesting inside them.

This door, for example, had a complex lock system. Robin would have gladly bet for the lock, had it ever decided to have a contest with Gaius to find out which one stood supreme.

_For people so obsessed with martial prowess Feroxians have a lot of innovation, _Robin thought.

He opened the lock and pushed the door open.

A familiar person pushed her head into the room, not caring about etiquette or manners.

And in this case, there was no need for such; she was Robin's daughter, after all.

"Morning, father!" Morgan greeted happily. Robin smiled at her enthusiastic behavior; it was just what he needed to get the last bits of the nightmare out of his mind.

"Morning", Robin greeted her. "Are you _absolutely_ sure that you would not rather sleep in? It will get rough once we start the campaign."

"I am fine", Morgan assured him. "This is like a second nature to me."

"Then", Robin said, closing the door behind himself, "I need you to do something for me."

Morgan tilted her head curiously, and Robin felt the many pockets that his coat held – he had begun to forget what each pocket held inside – till he found the one with right contents.

Morgan kept watching as Robin produced his coin purse from inside.

"Your chore for today", the tactician said, "is to wander around the city and have fun." He gave Morgan two silver coins, each one a rather hefty sum on its own.

To Robin's surprise, Morgan frowned. _She is not content? That was half of soldier's weekly pay, _Robin thought in astonishment.

Morgan kept frowning at the coins, and Robin kept lamenting that his daughter had become too materialistic.

Finally, she said: "Mother warned me that you could try to spoil me with excessive gifts." Her face was unnaturally grim, but the deep blue eyes never lost their focus.

"I see", Robin said, nodding in agreement while hiding his smile, "Your mother certainly knows what she is talking about." Then the tactician produced two more silver coins from his purse, and put them on Morgan's hand.

"Now, a lesson about real life", he said with unnecessary flourish, "Try to not spend it all."

* * *

It was a lot of money, more than Morgan had ever held before: or, at least, more than she could remember ever having before.

The money felt good inside the purse, and Morgan kept pressing its distinct weight against her palms. She dreamed of things that such an amount of money could buy; dresses – she was a woman, after all – and scarves, many different kinds of edible things – sweets and roasted meat; she could even try out the rare _kubak_ fruit – and more. Imagination knew no limitations, and Morgan savored her thoughts, kindling a ravenous appetite for all things buyable.

The street she walked was the busiest she had ever seen, with people from many countries and backgrounds, with different skin colors and eye shapes; one of them even wore a strange butterfly-mask on his face.

It was certainly a strange and exotic place; Morgan could feel her curiosity almost bursting aflame, as she ran from booth to booth, comparing commodities and produce, trying to make up her mind on what to buy among the vast sea of goods.

She stopped to gaze at a simple dress sold inside one of the booths. It was deep blue – like the ocean - and reflected sunlight in blinding fashion. Morgan thought about buying it for herself, but suspected that its price would be rather high. However, the dress's beauty had already captivated her mind, and she had hard time eluding the temptation.

_I can still turn around if it is too expensive,_ Morgan reasoned, and waved to catch the shopkeeper's attention. He was a burly man with a long beard that ran all the way to his navel.

Some other woman's senses would have immediately started screaming _fishy _after sparing him only a short glance, but not Morgan's; it never occurred to her that burly men don't usually sell beautiful dresses.

"How much for that dress?" she asked, pointing towards it.

"Three and half silver", the burly man said without looking at the dress, "And no haggling or I won't sell."

Morgan frowned; her father had said to not spend all of her money_. _She would have no more money to spend after buying the blue dress.

Yet she felt her being tugging itself towards the dress, hoping to hold it, hoping to wear it.

Hoping to look beautiful in certain someone's eyes.

In the end, that made the decision for her.

She picked up all four silver coins that her father had given to her, gripping them once more in her hand. Then she proceeded to-

-fall as someone tumbled into her, apologizing profusely before running away from her.

"You, thief! It is a thief!" the shopkeeper barked after him.

Morgan blinked from the ground. What had the thief stolen, to get the shopkeeper so agitated?

Then she gazed at her palm, in which there were no silver coins anymore; all four of them were gone. "Stop!" Morgan shouted, afraid of losing her chance to don the dress and look beautiful. "Thief! He stole from me!"

She scrambled up, attempting to dash after the thief who had almost disappeared into the throng.

A dexterous hand came from nowhere, grabbing the thief's neck and making him croak painfully. It was a strong hand, something that seemed like it belonged to an acrobat, or maybe a performer of some kind. Attached to the hand was a woman, eyes flaming in rage and hair following the emotion; she was not unlike an angry goddess, passing her judgment on a criminal.

She pressed her dagger against the thief's side, making sure that he would not escape.

And then, she began to drag him towards Morgan.

Then she walked right past Morgan.

Finally, the woman arrived to the shopkeeper that had shouted after the thief. With one flick of her hand she threw the criminal over his counter, causing things to drop to the ground or fly away by the force of her throw.

Morgan had frozen in terror. She could not understand what was happening in front of her.

The woman shouted loudly at the shopkeeper: "I know of your deal with this thief! You attract foolish customers to your shop, and rob them blind with his assistance!"

Morgan blinked her eyes. _Foolish customers, _she thought, and felt rather foolish indeed.

"You speak without proof!" the burly man yelled back, kicking the thief that was trying to bolt away again. "I will not allow you to slander my honest business!"

"Honest?" the woman with flaming hair asked in a dangerously low voice. "I'll prove that your business is anything but honest."

There was a flash of steel, and Morgan heard a solid _thunk_.

The woman's dagger had pierced the beautiful blue dress that Morgan had hoped to buy.

"Stolen from another booth one month ago", she stated coldly. Then she threw another dagger, hitting a vase and crashing it into smithereens. "Stolen from a caravan by bandits on Ylisse highroads."

Another dagger, another statement; the woman continued until nearly all goods in the tent had been either smashed or had proved to be far too resilient for her daggers.

"If I know this much", she stated finally, "Nothing will stop the khans of Ferox from executing you on the spot."

The burly shopkeeper began to quickly gather his money, but was stopped by a gleaming dagger hitting the wood right before his skew nose, almost nicking it. "Leave it all, or leave your fingers", the woman stated with an air of finality, "It isn't yours, anyway."

The shopkeeper dashed away from the booth, and curiously enough, the thief followed in the burly man's wake. The mysterious woman let out an unbelieving sigh, shaking her head, and began to collect the coins that the man had left. She put them inside a thick leather pouch, one that had been made for transporting large amounts of coins.

Morgan forced herself to move. She did not intend to let another person disappear with her money, no matter how scary they appeared.

"Um… Excuse me?" she asked, chastening herself for using so polite tone.

The strange woman looked at her, not surprised. "Ah, you", she said coldly, "It amazes me how anybody could be so foolish that they fall for this trickery. And then, I see you." The woman gave an exasperated sigh. "You must be _extraordinarily_ stupid."

Morgan felt shame, but also anger at the woman. Who was she to say such things to her, anyway?

"I'd rather be a fool, than another _thief_!" Morgan shouted at her, frustrated and angry at the woman who was about to make it away with her money.

"Thief? Listen now-" she began, but Morgan cut her off sharply.

"You are stealing the money that the thief stole from me, making you a thief! Also, you are stealing the shopkeeper's money, making you twice the thief!" she shouted. The fledgling tactician felt tears in her eyes, but she did not intend to stop. "You even ruined the dress that I intended to buy!" Morgan continued shouting, moving forward to face the woman's gaze.

"You…" the woman answered, her eyes widening suddenly. Then she shook her head, apparently in attempt to gather her thoughts again.

Morgan stared at her intensely, not intending to let the orange-haired woman escape. She was resolute to have her money back.

"How much was it?" the woman asked suddenly.

"Eh?" Morgan asked, confused.

"How much did the thief steal from you?" the woman asked again, emphasizing the second question more.

"Three and ha- No, four silver coins", Morgan said quickly, almost stumbling with her words.

The woman frowned at her, but picked the designated sum from her large leather pouch. She offered them to Morgan, who looked at her with wide eyes.

"I would rather die than believe that your kind can lie", the woman said, shrugging her shoulders.

"My kind?" Morgan asked, taking the money from her.

"Those who carry your blood", she explained, "Or whose blood you carry. Aaaaargh, this is so confusing!"

The woman stomped the ground a few times to punctuate her frustration.

"I do not even know whose child you are", she muttered surprisingly loud.

Morgan continued to stare at her. She concluded that world was too big to categorize people only by their ethnicity, standing in the society or personal habits.

The woman she had met was a strange case indeed.

* * *

Alright, so, there were actually two children from the future in this story(good luck finding the other one).

This chapter kind of happened when I listened to the shopping music from Fire Emblem: Awakening soundtrack(never let it be said again that the music you listen to never affects your writing), funny enough.

I think I am getting the hang of this. Also, Morgan will probably become my viewpoint to the world of the children, lending much needed depth for this story.

Let's see where our story takes us :P

Also, my apologies, I forgot.

This is called the "Children Arc".


	13. Chapter 13

**Everlasting bonds: Wings of despair**

_Impossible relatives_

* * *

"Damn it!" Flavia cursed, biting her lips. Other people around the table had similar reactions to Basilio's news.

According to his information The Conqueror was preparing to assault their continent with unforeseen military force; four hundred warships and seven hundred transport ships, which were meant to carry the rest of their enormous army.

The numbers were mind-boggling; Shepherds had only two hundred warships and six hundred transport ships, which meant that three fourths of their fleet were incapable of combat.

People around the table kept glancing at Robin, hoping for an answer to their predicament. However, the tactician's silence was impenetrable.

After a while, people also found it unbearable.

"Right", Chrom said, "If we are not going to progress, might as well eat." He glanced at Sumia, who nodded back, and rose from her chair.

Lucina rose with her. "Mother, please let me help you", she asked quietly as Sumia walked past her. "It wouldn't do for the pies to suddenly assault us."

Sumia frowned, and Lucina smiled in contrast. These were the moments that she lived for in this era, the time spent with her parents, doing what normal children did. It was one of life's simplest joys, but still something that Lucina held close to her still young heart.

"I'd rather not be reminded of that all the time", Sumia said, sighing. Then she nodded to the crown princess and stepped out from the room. Lucina followed, eager to have some time alone with her mother.

There would be less such moments during the campaign; her mother was a pegasus rider while Lucina was a foot soldier. Both had different responsibilities on the battlefield, effectively separating the two forces during the battles; sometimes even after them.

Lucina intended to enjoy this moment as much as she could, for she did not know when the next time would come.

Either one of them could disappear from another person's life at any time.

Permanently.

* * *

The room became almost rowdy as both of the khans competed on who could praise Sumia's pies more. Flavia kept hammering Basilio with her sharp and hurtful words, but the bald warrior did not appear to care less. The "oaf" - as Flavia called him – shrugged off insults that would have made a lesser man wallow in despair for days.

"This pie's texture is divine!" he exclaimed, "Tell me little bird, how did you achieve this?"

Sumia blinked a few times at his choice of words, before answering: "I used a LOT of oil." She closed her eyes in frustration. "Just don't ask me how many tries it took to get it finally right."

"Oil… Oil… Oil..?" a voice said from one corner of the table, followed by a dull sound. It was the tactician, tapping the table in rhythm with his words.

_*tap*_

"Plegia's oil supplies. Naval warfare. Limited engagement ability", he continued, paying no heed for others who kept chatting with each other_._

_*tap*_

"Disrupt the chain of command, and…"

Robin's eyes lighted up and he snapped his fingers, instantly catching everyone's attention. "This is what we will do", he declared to them, "Gather all carpenters you can, and promise them double the pay for their work during this month. We will need lots of wood, and also people who can fashion shields from it."

"Are you sure you'd not rather have some pie before telling us the rest of your strategy?" Chrom asked, flailing his piece around suggestively.

Robin shook his head, and proceeded to explain the outrageous plan that had come together inside his mind.

* * *

_You need to meet someone_, the strange woman had said, and although Morgan had been initially doubtful of following her, she had decided to trust the woman.

They were walking down dirty – if rather wide – back alleys, walking further and deeper into the city that Morgan was not familiar with. Their shadowy surroundings made her increasingly nervous, and she hoped to have made the right call in trusting the woman.

_Does she have to keep silent_, Morgan thought in frustration. _This mood is killing me!_

She decided to force the woman to have a conversation.

"So…," Morgan said, "What's your name?"

The woman turned to gaze at Morgan, gauging her with those unnaturally red eyes. The gesture made her immediately seem threatening, even if her red eyes showed no anger or hatred. There was, however, a flash of irritation hidden in those eyes. Then the woman turned her head away as if trying to hide some expression that had found its way to her face.

"Severa", she answered, and stopped to knock on the wooden door in front of her. Morgan gazed at the building. It didn't differ much from others on the street, but there was an eye-catching quality to it; it was _large_, almost like a warehouse. Morgan wondered what kind of acquaintances the woman – _Severa_, she corrected herself - had here.

And then she noticed that the street was void of people. A tremor of fear jolted through her spine, and Morgan's hand quickly moved to her sword's hilt.

Steps sounded from behind the wooden door, and then an enthusiastic voice bellowed: "PASSWORD!"

"I really hate you, Owain", Severa said flatly.

"That's not the password we agreed on", the enthusiastic voice said bluntly.

"You know who I am. Let me in."

"Can't help you with that, Severa", the voice stated. "Password equals entry, and no password means that you have to stay outside."

"Then you should have chosen something less embarrassing as our password, crackpot!" Severa retorted sharply.

"How dare you?" the voice answered, "I spent three days and three nights making up that sentence!"

"Your dedication is astounding", Severa said sarcastically. "Now _open the blasted door_! I have your kin here!"

"Lucina is there?" the enthusiastic voice asked in surprise, and Morgan let out an inaudible yelp.

_These people know my mother, _she thought, and possibilities started racing in her mind like a hundred unleashed horses.

After a moment of clatter the door opened, and a youthful man peeked out. Severa proceeded to wrestle the door from his hands and gestured Morgan to step inside, despite the man's verbal protests.

"You lied, she's not with you!" the youthful man – whom Morgan deduced to be Owain – shouted to Severa, who exhaled slowly before answering his accusations.

"I said kin", she said, "not Lucina. I didn't really lie." Then she met Morgan's gaze for a short while. "I think."

"She's not one of us", Owain quickly said, "She isn't my mother, or Cynthia's; she can't be our kin."

"What is this about?" Morgan asked in confusion, and Severa gestured her to step closer. She did so, against the foreboding feeling that rose inside her.

"I am not in the mood to argue further", Severa said to Owain, "So just… look at her eyes."

Owain grunted rebelliously, but did as the woman asked.

His expression changed rather quickly after that.

Then Owain rolled up the sleeve of his right hand, revealing something on his forearm. It was _the_ brand, very same that marked Morgan's right eye.

"You have made this man very curious", Owain said dramatically, holding his forearm before Morgan's eyes. "Tell me, who _are_ you?"

Morgan closed her eyes and pursed her lips.

She had no idea what would happen if she told them that Lucina was her mother.

Besides, Lucina had been surprised of her parenthood, alongside Robin, so it was more than likely that these people would know nothing about Morgan.

While it was also very likely that she was not among enemies, divulging more information than was necessary was something that only a fool would do. That was one of the lessons that Robin had taught to her.

"I think", she said, choosing her words carefully, "that if you ask Lucina about me, the state of things will become quickly apparent."

This was fine. They could not suspect her of being Lucina's daughter if the crown princess herself had not expected it.

"Owain…," Severa said glancing worriedly toward her acquaintance.

"Mmm… Do you think Lucina went Laurent on us?" Owain asked, frowning.

"How old would she be now, then?" Severa asked in return.

"I do not know… Forty years? Thirty-five?"

"She's still your age", Morgan marked flatly. Apparently the idiocy of these two caused them to draw right conclusions, despite their strange theories. And who was Laurent, anyway?

"What if she's lying? Owain asked Severa, ignoring Morgan's scowl.

"Lying? Lying?!" Morgan shouted. She was fed up with the fact that they were ignoring her. "I come here terrified of choosing the wrong person to trust, prepared to be attacked and possibly even killed, but you two… you accuse me of _LYING_?! More so, one of you has the brand of the exalt! Who are _**YOU**_?"

Owain looked at her, thinking.

Then he sighed.

"Fine, I'll tell you", Owain said, nodding. "However… You are obliged to tell us who you are in return. We cannot wait for Lucina's answer, as your existence raises too many questions for us in itself. To put it simply…"

Morgan frowned at the silence that followed. It made her feel deeply uncomfortable.

"You are an unknown factor, and this war has no room for one", Owain said curtly. "Now then, about me… Are you familiar with the name Lissa? Possibly the person herself?" As Owain said his words, he gripped his right arm. Morgan noticed the gesture; it seemed as if Owain was holding the arm back.

"Lissa is… I know of her", she answered after a while, pursing her lips while a lone thought arrived in her mind, bringing in suspicion and premonition of what was to come.

"Personally?" Owain asked, his voice strangely distant. His face had become slightly contorted; it seemed like he was hiding something incredibly painful.

"If you were to ask her whom I was, by name, she would be able to point me out", Morgan answered, a bit worried for the man. "Now then, I have my… suspicions, but enlighten me. Why mention her when we are, in fact, talking about you?"

"Because… she is my mother", Owain soon answered, and Severa nodded from his side.

"I ascertain his claims", she said, "Owain speaks the truth."

Slowly, Morgan turned around and walked inside the house. Then she faced one of the wooden walls inside, and laid her forehead to rest against it.

"_This is bad_", she muttered._ "Very bad. Father won't like this at all."_

It was only her suspicion, but if there were indeed more children…

Their arrival would mess everything up.

Everything.

* * *

Off-topic: And there. What I want people to keep in mind is that Morgan will be treated as a character that has tactical understanding, as well as strategic, but has yet to learn to apply it. As such, she is really smart, but makes errors time to time.(Then again, so will Robin... I HOPE!)

Also, HOLY COW OWAIN SOUNDS SMART! I may have done something irrevocable, guys...

Ah, what the heck, he will be interesting like that. I mean, he is the sub-leader of the children, after all... At least in this version.

Also, the second child from the future that showed up in the last chapter was Gerome. Remember that guy with "butterfly mask"? Yeah.

See you in the next chapter.

PS: Oh, and if you wonder why the heck they ate pies in the war council, that is because they were MEAT PIES.

Plus, Chrom wanted to show off his wife's cooking skills.

No, seriously.

Alright, I'm out :P.


	14. Chapter 14

Off-topic: First, a quick mention. I have noticed that my writing has a serious flaw. I call it "utilizing the wtf-factor far too much." Basically, I throw so many surprising things at the reader that it he/she doesn't know what to expect, but they really come out from the bushes.

I think that I foreshadow to little, and that is the root of this problem. I'll see what I can do to fix it.

Another thing I want to say is that I wish you all read Morgan's part from the last chapter again, I added some crucial foreshadowing there to make sure that this chapter sinks in, and does not seem out of place(You'll see why when you read this.)

I'm sorry this chapter took so long to create, I was having some trouble with it. I hope it pays off. I think that characters stay in their roles better this time around, but we need to see about that.

Also, Owain is going to be VERY different. It seems that my strength is in writing characters that have things I myself had added to them, and if they don't have those, I will have trouble. Some things will deviate heavily from game, but I have one goal in mind.

To bring an amazing experience, while at the same time LEARNING TO WRITE PROPERLY.

English is hard, man. Proper hard.

Also, buildups. Need to learn to write buildups.

Also, less dramatic text would be amazing. It will probably take time for me to get it right, though.

* * *

**Everlasting bonds: Wings of despair**

_Right hand of sorrowful pain_

* * *

Morgan spent a good while pondering about the present situation, desperately seeking for an answer to the new problem. Finding it was harder than a regular game of chess with her father; there was no one to tell Morgan whether she made a wrong move, or to tell her that she had been outmaneuvered.

It was true that the present situation wasn't a game, although there was an enemy to beat. But Morgan was worried that relationships of the Shepherds would crumble before that.

It had been a shock for Morgan's parents to meet her. What would happen to Shepherds' morale, if other children popped up from nowhere?

Owain laid his left hand on Morgan's shoulder, startling her. "My apologies", he said smiling encouragingly, "But we really need that answer now, especially since I told you _our_ secret. Your parents, who are they?" Owan lifted his hand off her shoulder, having caught Morgan's attention again, and met her deep blue gaze. _"Although your eyes do seem uncannily familiar…" _he muttered.

Morgan took a deliberately slow breath, and made her decision. These people had shown her trust, and had to be given the same privilege. Otherwise, how would any alliance between them and Shepherds work?

"My father is Robin, tactician of Shepherds", she said calmly, but her emotions were a storm attempting to break the dam that was her discipline; Morgan's wall against irrational decision making.

"The genius strategist of Ylisse?" Severa exclaimed in surprise. "I met you by accident!"

"Yet she has the brand", Owain pondered. "It makes sense for a person like the tactician to marry royalty."

"I… suppose it does", Severa slowly admitted, turning to pierce Morgan with her red eyes.

Morgan swallowed.

"And my mother…," she said, "…will it be enough if I say that Chrom is my grandfather?"

Severa's jaw dropped, and Owain frowned. "No", he stated, "it isn't enough. As you probably know, Chrom has two daughters."

"I did not!" Morgan exclaimed. Then another realization hit her. "I have an aunt?!"

Owain rubbed his forehead. "Maybe I should say _had two daughters_", he said. "Wait, that's wrong. _Had two_ daughters in the future... _Has two_ daughters in the past... And the present moment defines the future…" Then Owain shook his head rigorously. "_Regardless, _what you claimed should not be possible. Not unless you followed us through the Gate…"

"I know nothing of such", Morgan said. "My father said that I am probably from another future, and I think I can prove those words."

"How?" Owain asked curiously, gazing Morgan so intensely that she suspected Owain was not going to let her leave before he had his answers.

Morgan deftly opened one of her pockets, and picked up her onyx ring. She thrust it toward Owain, but pulled it back when he reached for it. "You may look", Morgan said firmly, "But not touch. It was once my mother's, and she still wears it. Grandfather has one, too."

Owain kept staring at the ring in silence, and Severa did the same.

Morgan understood why. Both of them knew the implications of owning that onyx ring, and they also knew now – for sure - that Morgan was indeed Lucina's child.

An idea crossed Morgan's head, and she seized it, intending to fix the whole mess. "So", Morgan said, faking thoughtfulness; she actually knew how things would go from now on. "Does this mean that if your situation has changed, you will follow my orders?"

"It does not-", Severa retorted, but Owain cut her off by lifting his left arm.

"Perhaps", Owain said while his gaze burned through Morgan, "To certain extent. What do you intend?"

"I intend to hold a conversation", Morgan answered, "And I need you two to participate in it."

* * *

Evening was approaching fast, but the war council wasn't even halfway done with their planning. Safe supply routes had to be formed, so that wood and rations would reach their ships. They also needed to recruit captains; Plegia had offered theirs to the Shepherds, but Chrom had kindly declined the offer, wary of deception. The people in the war council didn't know what Validar was going for with all of his help, although interesting points were brought up; most valid of them stated that Valm was a threat to them all, Grimleal or not.

Robin looked at his coat; purple markings entwined its black surface, slithering back and forth, making a normal man wary of any person that would use it. It was the one that Robin had worn when Chrom had found him on the meadow, and the same that he had used in the war against Plegia. It was also - as the tactician later found out - a traditional cape for Grimleal members, although Shepherds called it the _"tactician's coat" _to honor Robin's achievements in the last war.

The tactician wondered – and not for the first time - whether he had been a member of Grimleal before losing his memory; one of those that wished for fell dragon Grima's revival. The prospect made him feel troubled.

And then there were the dreams…

"_Robin?_" Chrom's voice called, his tone implying that he had already done so more than once. "Wake up!"

The tactician blinked at the prince, and then looked at others around the table. "I'm sorry, where were we?" he asked, feeling bad about drifting off.

"_We_ were strategizing," Chrom said, pointing at the doorway, "but Morgan is asking for _you_."

Robin jerked from his chair immediately after noticing that the prince had not been playing games with him. The young, budding tactician was gesturing softly both with her face and hands. Most telling one of the signs was the awful slitting movement across one's own throat. _Seriously, _Robin thought, _where did she pick that one up?_

He turned to look at Chrom again. "I'll be gone for a short while", Robin said to him, and the prince nodded.

"Sure", Chrom said, facing the map on the table.

Robin walked across the cold stone floor to Morgan, who was talking with Lucina. The crown princess seemed troubled, and kept glancing at Robin.

"It won't take long, mother", Morgan said insistently, and Lucina sighed in sign of surrender.

"I'll come", the crown princess promised.

"Come where?" Robin asked. "We are in the middle of a war council here, Morgan."

"This is important", Morgan said and glared at her father. "Besides, I already said it won't take long."

"What can be more important than this?" Robin asked, sounding more than a little doubtful.

"Something that can ruin every plan you make", Morgan answered sharply, and marched to the doorway, glancing behind only once to check whether her parents followed.

Robin shrugged his shoulders. "As long as we don't leave the palace", the tactician said and followed after her. Lucina accompanied them both, walking a few paces behind.

They walked past cold, greyish stone walls and an occasional rare pillar – Feroxians did not seem to favor those in their buildings – till they finally stopped near an ornate balcony that ran all the way to the end of the corridor. Two people stood there waiting, facing the corridor from whence they came.

"Lucina!" the orange-haired woman shouted, sounding more than glad to meet her. The crown princess froze on her tracks; she became pale and her body tensed up unnaturally.

"A threat?" Robin quickly asked, but Lucina slowly shook her head.

"Friends", Lucina answered, keeping her gaze locked on the woman who quickly approached them. "Friends who _should not be here_", she continued louder than before, and the orange-haired woman jerked slightly. "I intended to give your orders later to make sure that you people would cause no chaos among Shepherds, but now two of you are here, and who knows how many have seen you wandering around the palace! Owain, I thought you would be able to handle things responsibly while I was away!"

Owain grimaced, and gritted his teeth. "We were given very convincing reasons to do this."

Robin frowned in frustration. "_I find it very hard to follow this conversation"_, he muttered under his breath.

"It is true, mother", Morgan said, interjecting her words to the quickly escalating argument. "I convinced them to do this."

Lucina scowled at Owain, almost drilling holes with her icy glare. "You shouldn't have been able to do that, Morgan. It was Owain's fault."

"I have the royal ring, remember?" Morgan said to her mother. Lucina spun around to look at Morgan, her face full of unveiled surprise. "I convinced them to come here and meet with you and father."

A short, uncomfortable silence fell down on their conversation. Then Lucina spoke again.

"Why?"

"How were you planning to have the future children join us, mother?" Morgan asked, tensing up as her face became more serious than Robin had ever seen. "Did you intend to have them secretly integrate themselves in Shepherds, always hiding their persona and facing the future battles alone? Did you never intend to let them reveal themselves to their parents, while you got to reveal yourself to grandfather?! If you did, you are the worst kind of a hypocrite!"

"And that's about enough!" Robin shouted, raising his voice above Morgan's. The tactician received a confused – and more than slightly hurt - gaze. "No more of that, Morgan", Robin said calmly, having caught her attention. "Accusations will lead us nowhere."

He quickly glanced at Lucina to see how she fared, and was not surprised to see her hiding the pain Morgan's hurtful words had caused. _That could have gone better, _Robin thought solemnly. _She would have probably seen the truth about her actions in time. I need to give Morgan a lesson about that at some point._

"Now", he continued, "Are we _really_ having another discussion about time-jumping children? I thought we finally solved it all with Morgan." He sighed wearily. "Lucina, do you have an explanation to this?"

Lucina had her eyes closed while answering: "I do not know where to begin... They are from the future, like me, but have different parents. Severa is the daughter of Gaius and Cordelia", she said while Severa snorted. "And Owain is-"

Lucina cut her sentence short. A long, sinewy man was approaching them across the corridor, his steady steps immediately revealing him for a warrior. He had a brown hair – not unlike other Feroxians – and his eyes were sharp, to the point of causing unexplainable fear in other people; at least, until they eventually found out about his irrational fear of women.

Lon'qu nodded to them from a distance. "My apologies for interrupting you", he said. "I was on my way to talk with Basilio. Could you possibly make some room, so that I may pass?" he asked, staying at least four paces away. The whole situation would have been humorous, if not for the understanding tactician.

"Of course", Robin said, telling Morgan to move closer to the balcony with a subtle nod. She changed places quickly, and Lucina followed her. Severa, however, kept her ground.

"Owain?" she asked, appearing worried. Robin turned to look at the man.

Owain's right arm was trembling noticeably, and his respiration was heavy and uneven. The man's face was pale and his eyes implied something hidden and dark.

"_You fool"_, Owain muttered slowly. _"You fool."_

Then he raised his head, and alarm bells rang in Robin's head; Owain's face was contorted by uncontainable rage.

The youth threw himself at Lon'qu, unsheathing his sword in one swift movement.

"_**You selfish, lovelorn fool!" **_he shouted, and brought the sword down without any kind of hesitation.

* * *

Off-topic: I'd REALLY appreciate opinions and thoughts on the chapter, so fire away. I intend to make this fic as unique as I can, but remember this one thing:

I intend to keep Chrom, Sumia, Lucina, Robin and Morgan about the same as they are in the game. I don't intend to "break" their characters to make this fic interesting(by breaking I mean changing their persona radically, although I never "break" a character by choice. Usually they become like that because of poor writing skills, or too little foreplanning). I do understand that people worry about that stuff, but I will write to my strengths, and the rest will come in time(including proper characterization).

I really hoped you enjoyed this, let me know whether the chapter was a success or not.


	15. Chapter 15

**Off-topic: IT IS READY! AAAAAAAAND WE ARE MOVING TO THE SEAS AFTER THIS!**

**Almost. I might write a chapter while these people still reside inside the port, but we will see.**

**This chapter was hard to begin, but the rest of it flowed like a smoothly-oiled machine. I deem this one a good write, but I'll still rather receive the reviews and fix whatever is broken. I do say that my English and writing are a lot better in this one, though.**

**Have fun reading this, and if you like it, do give feedback(it results in much better text, you know).**

**Oh, and I didn't check the voices this time :/. I assume they are at least decent, but if they are not, I might consider giving much more care to them next time.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

**Everlasting bonds: Wings of despair**

_Past and future intertwine_

* * *

A resounding screech filled the corridor as two swords grinded against each other; Owain and Lon'qu had locked their blades, and the younger man pushed forward, making Lon'qu scramble backwards in his desperate attempt to regain balance. Seeing his chance, Owain stepped back from the blade-lock and slashed horizontally at Lon'qu's throat. The Feroxi warrior had no time to parry Owain's strike, so he retreated evasively. Owain's blade drew blood, barely managing to nick Lon'qu.

Yet Lucina knew such luck could not continue long. She beheld the shallow gash on Lon'qu's neck and understood that Owain was serious. Lucina's cousin truly intended to end Lon'qu's days, and thinking about it would've probably made the crown princess feel dumbfounded.

But Lucina's instincts had always been much faster than her thoughts. As Morgan grunted in disbelief behind her back she moved her hand to Falchion's hilt and unsheathed the golden blade. Then she proceeded to dash forward as Owain began his assault anew.

The youth kept giving blows that Lon'qu could only barely parry or dodge, quickly nearing the point where the decisive strike could be given. However, it took Lucina only a few strides to reach Owain, and she decided to take no chances. Moving her sword to deflect any sudden blows she charged Owain, tackling his back and earning herself a surprised grunt. Both of them landed awkwardly on the ground, but Lucina – because of her natural dexterity and gracefulness - quickly sprang forward to take hold of Owain's trembling sword-arm. She twisted it painfully, forcing Owain to let go of his sword, and locked the arm behind her cousin's back, causing him immense pain.

"Stopstopstopstoaaaagh!"

"You _lunatic_!" Lucina shouted angrily while others - including Lon'qu who kicked Owain's blade further away - quickly gathered around her. She tightened her hold even more – out of necessity – and was answered by a barrage of requests for mercy.

"You attempted patricide, Owain! _Patricide!_"

Lon'qu glanced at Lucina and then Owain, lowering his eyebrows considerably. He wasn't up to speed about the situation, and Lucina would have to explain it to him soon.

"Patricide? He seems almost my age, Lucina", Lon'qu said. Then, as the Feroxi swordsman kept looking at Lucina, it seemed to dawn on him. "…no way…" he said quietly, turning to face the young swordsman who lay on the floor.

Lucina was starting to regret keeping the information about future children hidden, but there was nothing she could do about it now. The secret was out, and it had been revealed in the worst possible way.

None of this should have happened, though. She had no idea Owain would assault his father like that. It made no sense to her.

"What on earth _possessed_ you to do that, Owain?!" she asked, jerking her cousin's arm slightly to catch his attention. "Why would you do such a thing?"

"I… my sword-hand, it just…" Owain stammered, face against the ground. Lucina's sharpened features softened slightly. She was familiar with her cousin's _"ailment"_; Owain oftentimes went berserk while fighting Risen, unable to remember anything else than a dull pain on his sword-arm right before his rampages. Yet that "ailment" couldn't have caused all this; it was Owain's reaction to the Risen, or so Lucina remembered from the future.

Robin tapped the floor nervously with his foot – Lucina was almost sure that he was not aware of the habit – while standing at Lucina's side, wisely keeping himself out of the reach of Owain's free hand. "I never thought that those of the Exalt's bloodline were capable of doing such things", he admitted, staring down at Owain in confusion. "I… still find myself unable to accept it."**  
**

Lucina glanced at Robin; the tactician's eyes were uncharacteristically sorrowful. To him this situation must have felt like a strike to the stomach while eating delicious food.

Lucina pushed away her troubling thoughts and made sure that her hold on Owain could not be broken, even if her cousin seemed to have calmed down somewhat. "Severa", she called, "Has Owain shown any advanced symptoms lately?" The young woman stared at the crown princess, puzzled. "Advanced symptoms of his _ailment_", Lucina clarified to her.

"_No"_, Owain muttered, and Lucina tightened her hold on him slightly. She could not suffer any random comments from the person that was the single source of all their trouble.

"I…" Severa began, and then their situation got all worse; running steps and shouts could be heard as people started arriving to the corridor, no doubt having heard the sounds of clashing swords. They were Shepherds who had been wandering around the palace, having no better stuff to do. Lissa came among them. After finding her baffled husband there she approached him hastily – Lucina was sure that she had not ever seen the swordsman so unwilling to encounter his wife – and launched a barrage of questions on him.

"What happened? Is everybody alright? Was it an assassination attempt?"

"Suffice to say that we have no need of your staff, aunt Lissa", Lucina said calmly, but in her mind she was screaming. _Why her, why now?! Gods!_ Then she saw Chrom wade his way through the dozen people that had gathered up in the corridor. Lucina was able to distinguish worry from his face, even from the distance. She did not feel relief from having her father here; instead, she grew worried herself.

"_It can only get worse from here"_, the crown princess muttered silently, regretting not telling her father about the future children beforehand. Had she done that, they could've probably avoided today's incident.

_Or perhaps not, _she reasoned, deciding that it was imperative to ask Severa for her clarification on Owain's situation during their next free moment.

Things were about to get dicey though; Chrom's face had changed from worry to anger, and his eyes blazed with a fire that made his blue eyes seem like a cold inferno. It was rare for Lucina to see her father like this; usually it involved Validar, and to some extent Robin's worries of the man as Chrom was very protective of his friend. Once again, Lucina thought whether the two even saw their relationship that way.

In the light of her father's righteous anger she immediately grew uncomfortable and defensive. There was no going around the fact that Owain had tried to kill Lon'qu, and according to the law of Ylisse murder attempts were to be punished by death; it was a strict law, but only enforced so that the Realm could enjoy peace and prosperity without having to worry about any possible deviants ruining the lives of regular citizens.

"What happened?" Chrom asked in cold voice after reaching the center of commotion. His attitude was not directed to anyone in particular, but Lucina knew that he would not be afraid of point his anger at Owain when the truth came out; that would inevitably happen, considering Robin's position among Shepherds and his friendship with Lucina's father.

"_Well, isn't this just awkward…"_ Morgan muttered, and was softly tapped on her head by her father. Robin's eyes had a level look as he lifted his voice to converse with Chrom.

"We have a case of assault here that has too many variables to pass judgment on the spot."

"Simple assault?" Chrom asked, and his eyes almost became two slits. "With a sword? Robin, we call that a murder attempt in Ylisse."

"Like I said, too many variables", Robin said, and Lucina saw him glance toward Lon'qu and Lissa. The Feroxi had not yet explained the whole thing to his wife. "I'd rather converse this somewhere else, with less people around- No, I deem it imperative."

Chrom took a look at Owain who was trying to become friends with the palace floor, and grunted. "Well, I suppose you'd know, since you probably saw the whole situation", he said. Then the prince barked orders to the rest of the Shepherds that were present. "Tie this man up! No need to be gentle!"

"Actually, father", Lucina interjected hastily, "I'd appreciate if they were gentle." Chrom looked at her in confusion, and Lucina continued. "I'll explain it later."

Robin muttered a few words under his breath - something about Lucina herself not being gentle - while Chrom pondered his daughter words, looking at her as if trying to understand her motivations. Rest of the Shepherds approached, and Lucina was compelled by them to relinquish Owain to them. Her cousin muttered some stuff – sounding irritated, rather than insane - but he did not resist as some rope was quickly produced and used to tie him up.

"Fine", Chrom said, turning to face the Shepherds. "Guys, scratch that last order; do not hurt the man if possible." Then he added summarily: "Yet."

_That's fine, for now_, Lucina deemed. Rest of the catastrophe had to be solved by conversation.

* * *

Robin could not discount Lucina's words about the man's "_ailment"_, even if she had not clarified the expression any further. The crown princess knew something, and Robin felt compelled to explore the matter to its very depths. Also, the tactician didn't want to give Chrom a chance to sentence his own nephew unto death; Robin reasoned that the very act would curse Chrom with guilt that'd last him till the end of his days.

For those reasons he sat down with other people in Chrom's temporary quarters. Technically, these quarters were also Sumia's, but the prince-consort was not present at the moment. She had stayed behind in the war room, as any rapid movement could've – although Robin was sure that "_would've" _was a more accurate expression – caused her to trip over, and that would've been unsightly indeed. Sumia was rather self-conscious of her habit, so Robin considered it reasonable to think that sitting down near the table could actually boost her ego to healthy levels. That is, _if _she stayed seated down.

They had nine people present in the room. Morgan sat near Robin, pursing her lips nervously as she kept glancing at Chrom's angry face. Frederick - who had followed Chrom immediately after making sure that Sumia could manage with Flavia and Basilio - stood guarding tied up Owain. Chrom stood as well, leaning against the opposite wall from Owain and Frederick. Lucina sat down rather close Owain, unconsciously – or so Robin reasoned – fingering the hilt of her Falchion. Severa was near Owain as well, standing and trying to keep the whole room within her field of view. One of her fingers kept tapping a blunt bulge in her trousers, but Robin could not tell what kind of item was in question.

Then there was the couple that had surprisingly silent reactions to the situation, considering that one of them was the always energetic princess of Ylisse. Lissa was sitting quietly, and Robin noticed that she mirrored her husband's seriousness in her mannerisms. Lon'qu stood at her side, his eyebrows so low that Robin thought they'd blind the Feroxi's eyes soon.

The atmosphere in the room was so tight the tactician feared it'd snap like a length of overstrung thread. He saw Lucina jerk slightly as Chrom stood up from the wall he had been leaning against. Her reaction surprised Robin; then again, the atmosphere was _really_ uncomfortable.

"So, what is this about, Robin?" Chrom asked, walking to Owain and looking at his eyes. The younger man quickly moved his eyes down, unable to stand the gaze.

Robin cleared his throat, happy to have his thoughts in order, ready to present the problem and answers to the situation. _Best laid plans, _he reminded himself and stood up; sitting only added to his discomfort.

"That man's parents are present in this room", Robin said, and the Feroxi warrior sighed audibly.

Lissa turned to face her husband, and then Robin. "Who? Which two?"

"Yeah, do tell-", Chrom began saying, but then stopped. He quickly snapped his head at Owain, and then shortly after at his own sister. Astonishment made its way on his face in the most non-subtle way possible, making Chrom drop his jaw and gaze in unbelief. He had made the connection.

Then the prince - against all of Robin's preconceptions – burst out laughing and hastily turned away from his sister. Lucina stared at her father like he had gone mad; she had probably never seen her father like that. Robin could barely remember any times himself, and he was very close friend of Chrom's. The tactician figured, however, that the strange reaction had something to do with Chrom's sibling-relationship with Lissa.

"He has her hair! Just look at him, look at the hair!" Chrom shouted, unable to face anyone as he bellowed with laughter.

"Is that bloke _really_ your father?" Severa asked from Lucina. The crown princess gave her an embarrassed nod, and the young woman proceeded to shake her head in despondent unbelief.

"Wow, Chrom", Robin stated loud enough so that the prince could hear, "Way to make first impressions. You'll surely become a respected figure among other future children."

Chrom's laughter died out abruptly, and he turned to gaze at Robin in what could've only been fear. "_Other future_ _children_?" he asked. "Surely not for me and Sumia?"

Lucina shook her head at Chrom's back. "I may have forgotten to mention that I have a little sister", she stated frankly, although her eyes glimmered suspiciously.

Chrom spun around to meet her eyes. "May have? For crying out loud, you probably left that piece of information out _on purpose_!"

Chrom's daughter smirked at him, reminding Robin of a mischievous child. "Guilty as charged."

The two began bickering, and someone stood up at Robin's left side, out of his field of view. He turned to find Lissa walking slowly toward Owain. Frederick looked at her, troubled. "Milady, it might be dangerous", he protested, moving between her and Owain.

"He's not a dog, Frederick", Lissa said, burning with slow anger. "And you cannot stop me from talking to him anyway, so leg it."

Frederick obeyed – unwillingly - giving way to the young princess of Ylisse.

Robin lifted his attention away from them, back to the quarreling duo. It wouldn't be fair for him to listen in on each and every conversation held among the Shepherds, no matter how conventional it would be on the long run. That is just how things had to be.

Besides, he was fine with not knowing everything. It wasn't like these interpersonal relationships would ruin anything.

Or so he thought…

* * *

**Off-topic: If anyone can find any references to other fanfics in this story, I'll let them suggest(and I'll take it if I feel able to write about it) the theme of my next Eternal Bonds: Side Stories story. Yeah, it's another game, but I noticed that I have subconsciously added so many references that I feel like testing whether people can find them out(if they can, then I need to up my game... pun unintended).**

**I will spend some time planning the whole Sea-Battle Arc(I really want it to be cool, and to have coherent character growth and interaction rather than the chaos of Children Arc. My apologies for the mess, but I _can_ do better, as is proven by my latest chapter.**

**I do feel a need to notify that Owain's problem and the "ailment" he has haven't been fully explained to the reader yet, and that is on purpose. It is a long-term plot point.**

**Also, something that I want to say is that once again... There will be deaths.**

**How many? Well, telling that would be... um,**** telling, but I want to try have meaningful deaths that make sense. It is a challenge that I want to tackle. I swear, I feel the urge to spoil stuff, but I won't. I want to see your reactions when they come out from the bushes.**

**And that's it, thanks for reading, do leave opinions(what you liked, what was bad, and what could probably have been done better).**


	16. Chapter 16

**Off-topic: First off, I'm really sorry that this chapter came so late. I'll see if I can get into a tighter writing rhythm.**

**Good news is that this chapter begins a new arc, which is FULLY(90%... almost fully) outlined and planned. So there should be less pacing issues.**

**We will have some delicious character building, all without relying on the "crutch" characters like Chrom or... Or Morgan. Alright, so maybe she isn't a crutch character... Neither is Chrom, actually...**

**Aaaanyway, please tell me if you notice a drop in quality across the story, and I would love to have suggestions on how to write things even better(Meaning, if you notice some problems in my writing, serious or not, I'd be REALLY happy to hear them)**

**Alright so... Enjoy.**

**Aaaand I'm pulling off the usual... One more thing:**

**I changed my writing style again. Well, actually, I improved it. You'll see.**

**Now enjoy.**

* * *

**Everlasting bonds: Wings of despair**

_Daughters, women, and children_

* * *

"Are you sure shields are being distributed correctly?" Robin asked from Frederick as the cold and salty sea-air whipped his face, pushing back the hood he wore. And it wasn't the only thing bothering him. The piers they stood on opened toward the sea, exposing them to another element; water from the broken waves splashed upon them, making the cold wind feel all the more unbearable. It was chillier here now than it was in Ylisse during the autumns.

Robin was surprised by how much he already missed his home. During the last two years he had become rather attached to Ylisse, its natural forestation and wide-spread meadows. Robin never considered himself a romantic, but something about that realm appealed to him, resulting in a quiet yearning for the place.

"- to each and every… Robin?"

The tactician woke up from his brown study. He reminded himself to put a rein on his wandering thoughts.

"I'm sorry", he apologized, "all that you said went right past my ears."

The stalwart knight nodded, his expression unchanged. "I noticed. Might I recommend an afternoon nap? It does wonders to cerebral activity, or so I've heard."

"Now you're beginning to sound like Miriel", Robin said, and noticed he had unconsciously begun rubbing his temples. "I _could_ use the rest though, organizing this stuff tends to build up pressure in my cranial region."

"Maybe you should share your work with someone", Frederick suggested, "Not all of it, just the more mundane parts. In fact, your daughter seems to have a knack for that kind of job."

"And what if she forgets the shovels? Could you imagine the smell, or its effect on troops' morale?" The tactician shook his head resolutely. "No, I'd rather share my work with someone that has at least _some_ experience working as a quartermaster."

"I thought you'd say that, so I brought these", Frederick said while turning to pick up something from the brown leather bag that hung against his side; it was a stack of vellum, each one inscribed with detailed explanations on supplies, the route they would travel, and the estimated time of arrival for each bundle. All pieces of vellum had been signed by Morgan's hand, and none had any mistakes as far as Robin could tell; the controversial shovels had been added in too, _three_ for every ship.

"You provide a convincing argument", Robin said after a while. He turned to look at Frederick, and then back at the vellums. "Did you notice any mistakes?"

"None, and I went through them at least a dozen times. She's a natural, Robin; I heartily recommend that you share some of your work with her. It would be beneficial to us all."

Robin rubbed his temples again, frowning. "I didn't want to burden her with responsibilities, yet she goes and does something like this." The tactician raised his head slowly to gaze at the restless ocean. It was always in movement, never stopping to rest. Just like his daughter.

Robin sighed. "I'll take care of the distribution of weaponry and munitions. You can let Morgan handle the rest."

Frederick nodded, turning to leave. Robin called out to him once more.

"Frederick, remember to take extra care while inspecting her reports for mistakes."

The knight turned to nod his head at Robin. Then he walked away, his steely boots clanging against the wooden pier.

The tactician was left alone on the piers – discounting the running sailors loading cargo to the Shepherds' ships – and he began to ponder things. A strange question surfaced to nag at Robin, but it was probably the kind he'd never receive any answers to.

_I always thought my only involvement was in making Morgan understand strategy and tactics, _he thought,_ and Lucina's in molding her to an excellent swordswoman. However, I simply cannot see how either of us would teach her logistics. Sure, she could've picked the skill up soon after meeting with us_,_ but I doubt even she'd learn that fast.__**  
**_

Morgan's all-too-convenient skill set perplexed the tactician: her swordsmanship came from her mother, and tactical understanding from her father, but it was becoming quickly apparent that there was a mysterious third person responsible for teaching Morgan _logistics_.

_Who in the blazes is he_, Robin thought, treading toward the largest ship that Validar – and consequently, Plegians - had provided, situated rather far away.

_Or is he a she? Is there any way to know?_

Closest thing to an answer was the salty sea wind, pushing wildly against the sails of the ships.

Robin decided to scrap his thoughts for the time being; thinking was making his tired head ache. The tactician took his time walking toward a cluster of Shepherds that bustled about the impressive-looking ship. However, after reaching it, Robin had to admit that the distance had been playing tricks at him. It was still the largest ship in their fleet – there was no doubt about that - but nowhere near as big as some of the trading vessels he had seen anchored in Plegia's harbors. However, what the ship lacked in size was won in maneuverability, and it was a warship suited for crossing the ocean. Even if most trading vessels could also cross the sea between the two continents, Robin doubted that they were fit for more fighting than repelling an occasional pirate ship.

_Besides, it will look absolutely phenomenal when in flames, _Robin mused, irony of the thought not lost on him. He chuckled.

"Why so amused, Robin?" he heard a voice hail and ask. The tactician turned to his right and found the flamboyant archer gazing at him curiously. _Nice change from the past few days, _Robin thought as he saw Virion's eyes. _No sign of awkwardness in him._

Lately, the tactician had much trouble talking to Lucina, because her body-language kept implying she wanted to keep a solid distance between them. She seemed self-controlled, but Robin kept noticing frowns and scowls the crown princess showed when she thought no one was looking. He had seen a few very pained expressions too, all of them hidden under her usual considerate behavior.

Lucina was clearly troubled by something, but showed no signs of opening up; to put it aptly, she was _clamming_ up. The tactician resolved to talk to her at some point; he couldn't stand the awkwardness between them much longer. Lesser things had been known to kill a man on a battlefield; sometimes it happened by a simple - if ill-timed – thought, distracting a warrior during a decisive moment.

Indeed, Robin wasn't about to leave any matters unattended during the journey; no one in the Shepherds could afford it.

"It is a lady, I bet."

Robin turned his lowered head at the archer. He had not noticed that the thoughts had swept him into their currents again; it seemed to happen more often nowadays.

"The one occupying your thoughts", Virion clarified, picking a single red hair from his white and blue attire. "A lady for sure."

Robin wondered whether he should say _No_ and deadpan it, or simply keep quiet. It wasn't like Virion was wrong, but he would've misunderstood the reason for Robin's worry; same case with all the other Shepherds, had they heard that the tactician worried for Chrom's kid. Except that Lucina didn't really act like a kid. None of the future children – that had joined the Shepherds one week prior - did.

_There was the overeager one, though, _Robin thought. _Cyndril… Cylinder… Cyn-whatwashername? Chrom's second daughter._

Then he remembered there was a conversation going on, back in the mortal plane of existence.

"I don't have any woman troubles, if that's what you are implying", Robin answered to the archer.

Virion shook his head, holding a flower that he had apparently snatched from somewhere. "You cannot make me believe that. I have seen the same troubled look on many other men, each one entwined by the solid, yet beautiful webs of love."

"In my vocabulary it's frowning and pondering, not _entwined by the solid, yet beautiful-_ How do you come up with this stuff, anyway?"

"The same way you come up with some rather… _daring_… tactics, I suppose", Virion said, putting the flower-stalk between his index and middle fingers. Then he waved the hand outward from his chest, as if shooing away a part of their conversation. "But you cannot mislead me. Who is she?"

"There is no one", Robin said again.

"You are strangely adamant about this; surely you can understand the joys of having a-"

"Virion", Robin said, his voice now as cold as the wind that bit through his thick tactician's coat. "As a lightly armored archer, how would you feel if you were put on the front lines?"

Virion grimaced; however, quick-witted as the archer was, he managed to say something rather astute. "Naked as a newborn."

"Then don't make me take your clothes off", the tactician said. He was sure that any prolonged talk with the archer would've caused his head to throb even more than it already did, so he quickly extricated himself from their conversation, leaving dumbfounded Virion to mull over his words.

The tactician walked past other Shepherds gazing at the big ship - apparently the great fleet was _a thing_ amongst them - his eyes seeking Chrom from the midst of them. The crown prince was a character usually found quite easily, even amongst a throng, but this time the usual crowd of Shepherds was bolstered by other people; namely, the future children. Wherever there was a known pair of Shepherds walking together - or sometimes even a single person – they had a youngish person following them, usually smiling from ear to ear. There were exceptions to that, of course; Cherche's kid stood quite a distance back from them all, looking at the hustle and bustle with disdain. Owain, under probation, mainly kept to his mother's company. And Noire, well, Robin didn't know whether the girl was even capable of smiling.

Other than the three – and those who Robin couldn't remember – the children talked with their parents, circling them around in a nerving fashion and sharing memories that the "family" hadn't even created together yet.

At Robin's right side Olivia, Henry, and Inigo were arguing about fixing up a wounded dog, with Henry proposing to help it while Olivia screamed _blood magic_ at the top of her lungs. Inigo smoothly objected to his mother's shrieking, claiming that his father would never hurt a fly. He earned himself an uncharacteristic glare from Olivia. The situation ended with both of them averting their gazes, looking embarrassed, and Henry cackling at them both.

The tactician, while watching the Shepherds, felt something brew underneath their happy-go-lucky attitudes; for all the ingredients of the recipe known as chaos were present, only asking – nay, demanding – for but the smallest trigger to blast them all into oblivion.

Yet there was also a chance that it would not happen; a chance for them all to become enriched by the interaction between the two generations that could've never met otherwise. At least that was what Robin silently hoped, while walking to their largest ship, recently named to Emmeryn.

The tactician scowled. _Leave it to Chrom to make things incredibly poetic, _he thought, shaking his head. Burning and falling were both a type of destruction; not the motion of falling, of course, but the end result of it. And they had all seen the end result of Emmeryn's fall; all but the children.

Robin's pace fell as his mind returned to Emmeryn's sacrifice, and then to the children. They were still unknown variables, all of them possessing unquestionable martial abilities and undeniable battle experience. Robin feared for them as much as for their parents.

And then his tired, dulled mind forced him through an abominable worst case scenario, in which not only did the parents die, but the children also shared their fates.

Robin's eyebrows lowered as he frowned, and he discarded that thought immediately; he had learned two years ago that strongly emotional thoughts could – and oftentimes would - demoralize a man, hamstringing him.

And then, as the tactician gazed at the Shepherd flagship named after the gentle and self-sacrificing Exalt, he steeled his resolve again, swearing solemnly that he would not let the bleak future of the children come to pass.

* * *

**Off-topic: Serious thanks for reading this, I'll get on the next one as soon as I can.**

**One more thing. As I have mentioned, the battles are not my strong suite, but I'll see what I can do about the next one. I do have to say though, that the interactions of these characters are about to become more interesting. So stay tuned.**


	17. Chapter 17

**Off-topic: This became slightly lengthy, but I doubt you really mind.**

**I would be interested in hearing comparisons between this chapter, and the last one. Both were written in slightly differing methods, and I'd love to know which one is more effective.**

**Enjoy, and remember: All constructive critique and encouraging opinions make my fingers all that more eager to write the next chapter(it is now scientifically proven, don't you dare to dispute it :P)**

**Also, I started a new one-shot series, called Outrealm Tales. It is about the future children meeting strange if rather famous personas outside their own world, as their own machinations to travel to the past are ruined.**

**Alright, enough about that. I command thee to enjoy the reading...**

**No, I really do. You'll enjoy it, or you'll cry and enjoy it :D.**

**Really bad jokes aside, here's the chapter. I hope you'll like it.**

* * *

**Everlasting bonds: Wings of despair**

_Two generations, five years_

* * *

On the table stood a softly flickering candle, obligatory because the room's only window pointed westward, denying Morgan the sunlight till the evening. Candles were the only effective source of illumination for the budding tactician, but after five hours of squinting and prolonged focus, the lack of light was starting to strain her eyes.

The room was silent, except for her meticulous scribbling. Word after word of penmanship flowed on to the vellums, slowly filling the sheets with reports and statistics; barrels of dried meat were _possibly spoiled_, the wood meant for repairs was of _bad quality,_ and the water supplies had already been _distributed by Robin_, as per his wishes concerning all munitions and weaponry. The rest was Morgan's responsibility, one that she took very seriously. Yet, while the young woman scribbled away with her hand, she wished for a chance to catch a few moments outside; to breathe something else than stifling and stagnant air of the room.

_Only one stack of vellum_, Morgan promised herself, _one more, and I'll go outside. _However, she couldn't make good on her promise; another stack found itself in front of Morgan, challenging her wits and making her head ache.

Leading an army was hard, and planning its maneuvers was even harder, but Morgan noticed how it wasn't the quick acumen demanded by the chaos of battle that was the hardest part of any campaign. Rather, it was the unyielding determination to see things to their end, regardless of the cost and exhaustion.

Yet another pile found itself mysteriously before Morgan. Then, after having finished it, the young woman reached out for more with her hands.

_How long has it been already_, she contemplated wearily while her arm began to write again, almost unconsciously producing words on the vellum. Her tired eyes beheld the information on the supplies and their routes, labeled on another sheet lying against one of her books.

Morgan was almost done by now. She had not slept much during the last few days, for she had spent them filling up the empty sheets. It was a time she could have spent with her new friends, but someone had to do this job, or her father would drown in his work; thus, Morgan had persistently continued her writing, spending no concern over her own well-being.

Sudden, hard knocks thumped against her door, startling the young tactician and causing her hand to stumble. There was now a shaggy line where the information on the weapons storage should've been. Morgan sighed in frustration – her father would have trouble distributing the weapons without that specific information - and she pushed her chair back to rise up. She hadn't heard the approaching person's steps, and because it was wartime, she decided to play it safe. Slowly, Morgan approached the door, carefully staying out of its way, for it was a known assassination tactic to burst lightning through a door. The young woman could hardly imagine anyone going after her, but she took no chances. After covering half of the distance to the door, she articulated her question.

"Who is it?"

Nothing fancy, as simple questions would give off an unwary image of her. Morgan moved her hand on an Elwind tome, hidden in one of her coat's inner pockets; she would launch her own surprise on the person waiting behind the door, if his voice were distinctly unfamiliar.

"It's me, Morgan", a recognizable voice answered, and Morgan's stiff countenance brightened.

"Grandfather!" she shouted in delight. "Give me a second, the door's locked."

The washed-out door – that had probably once been brown - jerked slightly, as a strong hand gripped its handle. It did, however, hold against pull of Ylisse's crown prince.

"Apparently", Chrom answered from the other side. "Is there a reason you to keep it locked?"

"None", Morgan answered truthfully, as she laid her hands on the lock. "But I am a tactician; we play it safe."

"Robin says that often."

"He does", Morgan admitted. "I learned that saying from him."

She turned the lever, opening the lock, and then she drew the door open. Chrom stepped in, lowering his head slightly while walking through the doorway. Having done that, the crown prince glanced around appraisingly.

"Well, this is certainly strange", Chrom stated after a short while; his eyes were glued on the writing table Morgan was using.

"What is?" she asked.

"Well, your things are ordered nicely", Chrom answered, walking to the desk. The crown prince looked at the carefully organized piles of vellum and the surprisingly clean table, raising his eyebrows. "I'd never have thought it possible. Robin's papers are always a mess."

Morgan blinked a few times, and then she frowned visibly. The young woman turned to look out from the window, eyeing the seemingly never-ending sea. "It seems father hasn't learned his lesson yet."

"What lesson?" Chrom asked, turning around to look at Morgan. She looked at the sea for a while, and then turned to meet her grandfather's gaze.

"Father once told me he used to have a bad habit of leaving things about", she said, her eyes fixed on Chrom. "Paper, books, everything important was spread around his work tables. Father never even considered fixing the habit. But one day, he was travelling the sea and writing something, when the ship… Jumped? At least that's how he said it."

Morgan breathed in and out, continuing then on with her story.

"His ink-bottle - I quote - 'spun around at least a dozen times'. All of father's books, papers and important letters were covered in ink, and his cloak still bears a noticeable smudge from the experience, near his abdomen." Then Morgan noticed her mistake. "Or did… in the future."

A short silence fell, and then Chrom broke it with his question.

"And the lesson he learned was…?"

Morgan smiled, reliving her father's words. "To never stack extraneous stuff on his work-table… And to always keep his things in order."

Chrom smiled approvingly. "I look forward to seeing _that._"

The noises in the room stilled once more, and Morgan sought for words to say. She also wondered what her grandfather had come for. Chrom's intentions were hardly clear at this stage.

"And that's it, I suppose", Chrom said, once again pushing back the tide of still quietness. "Now tell me; how long have you been cooped up in this room?"

Morgan shrugged her shoulders, trying to dismiss the implications of her next sentence. "Since yesterday."

"And have you eaten?" Chrom asked, sounding worried. Morgan noticed how his eyebrows went down ever so slightly, indicating minor displeasure.

"The hostess brings meals to my room every now and then", she answered, failing to mention she hadn't eaten anything today.

Chrom pursed his lips, and looked past Morgan for a moment. Then the crown prince sighed. "Out, now", he commanded, making Morgan shake her head.

"I really can't, there's work to do. Father is counting on me to-"

"He wouldn't want you to sacrifice your well-being for our goals", Chrom said, cutting Morgan off. He continued his soft-but-adamant manner of speaking; "I'm not voicing suggestions here, Morgan; these are _orders_."

Morgan bit her lips lightly, and glanced towards her work-desk. Chrom, after noticing the gesture, said "_Work can wait"_, and Morgan knew she had no choice.

Besides, this would be a welcome change to the dullness she felt in her right arm.

* * *

The young woman followed her grandfather outside, where she had to raise her hand to ward off the assault of the bright sun. In the dimness of her room, she had not realized it was such a nice weather outside. Chilly and wet sea-wind had raged through the area during the past few days, leaving behind something worthy of being called a spring. Indeed, the air was fresh and through it, Morgan whiffed different odors, some natural to this environment, while others not so much; the scent of blades was one of those.

Leaving the sky to pegasus riders, Morgan turned her eyes forward. Chrom had already taken a lead on her, walking towards the docks. He glanced behind, probably to check whether Morgan was following.

The young tactician took a few running steps to catch up with her grandfather, flashing him a smile. It was a promise to not wander off on her own, or at least not without telling Chrom.

"I was starting to think you had escaped back to your quarters", he marked almost solemnly, but the glint of his eyes revealed it to be a joke, and a jab towards Morgan. The young woman answered in kind.

"It's your fault for not escorting this lady properly."

Chrom smiled back softly, but otherwise his countenance remained the same. The crown prince didn't crack up often – the only time Morgan remembered was when Chrom realized Owain was Lissa's child – but his smiles were not unusual, especially among friends. He was, however, in habit of easily growing exasperated when people did something stupid or strange, but he was as easily calmed down. Usually, Sumia was the one responsible for his pacification.

There were stories going around, how it wasn't always calming words she used to settle her husband down; one account told how she had decked Chrom square to the face with an armored gauntlet. The tale goes on to say that the prince split a lip, causing unimaginable anguish in the young woman. She had gone on to bake the pie of redemption, and the situation had ended with Chrom proposing to her. At least that's how Morgan had heard it from Lissa, but – considering it was her - there might've been some romantic fabrication included.

To Morgan, Chrom was something she had never had; continuity in her bloodline beyond her father and new-found mother. It felt good to walk these bland streets with him, even when neither one of them actually said anything. There was no need for words, as they had sparred together for a few months now; crossing swords opened one's eyes to another person's character, like few other things did.

The feelings rising inside Morgan were warm and soft, almost like those the young woman had when she spent time with her father. She was content to walk alongside her grandfather, taking in the scenery and breathing the refreshing air.

Then Chrom stopped suddenly. He turned his eyes towards the sky. They were keen on something approaching from the sun's direction.

Morgan turned her gaze towards it, shielding her eyes. A pegasus rider, mounted by two people, approached them. The foremost rider had a long, red hair, while another kept his short body pressed against the first, maybe unaccustomed to flying.

"Huh", Chrom said, implying surprise with his short grunt.

"What?" Morgan asked curiously. Obviously, the sudden approach of the redheaded rider meant something to Chrom.

"A messenger", Chrom answered shortly. "Cordelia."

The pegasus took a small swoop, and then committed to its plunge. To onlookers it must've seemed like a surefire way to die, but for a pegasus rider, that was the quickest way to land. Of course, the rider had to be mindful of any additional equestrians, but in this case Cordelia had it in the bag.

After their landing, Morgan noticed how the same couldn't be said of the one travelling with her. The short man jumped down from the horse, gripping his chest desperately.

"I- I told-", he stammered, inhaling sharply. Then he slowly exhaled, and straightened up. His crown still didn't reach Morgan's. "I TOLD YOU not to descend like that! Just what kind of husband do you prefer; one with all his parts intact, or a person made of mincemeat? My guess, you'd fancy the mincemeat guy."

"I had to deliver the message", Cordelia answered, attempting to keep her face as level as possible. Still, it was but a mask, obvious to anyone passing by.

"Yes, and _Chrom _wasn't _going anywhere_!" Gaius shouted, throwing his arms in air and exhaling angrily. Morgan could hear the air grating the man's throat as it went out; he wasn't even trying to be calm anymore. Chrom, on the other hand, massaged his eyelids with his fingers;there was no doubt as to whether he was frustrated.

"Do you guys _have _to fight in the middle of the street?" he asked authoritatively, causing Gaius and Cordelia to jerk slightly. The two bickering lovebirds calmed down noticeably, but their glares were apparent for anyone that cared to see.

"Now, what's the message, and who's it for?" Chrom continued, calming down with the overall mood. His voice did not give up its authority, and Morgan noted that her grandfather – whether knowingly or not – held the reins of this conversation in his hands.

"It's... for you, milord", Cordelia answered, giving Morgan's grandfather a lot more attention than others usually did. "Grumpy- I mean, Lon'qu-", Cordelia stammered, scowling at her husband who had a habit of inventing fitting nicknames, "-has arrived with a supply train. He is asking where to site it."

"What supplies?" Morgan quickly interjected. This message belonged to her sphere of influence, and she intended to give it the attention it deserved.

"Emergency clothing supplies, leather jerkins, quivers and arrows", Cordelia listed expertly, no doubt in her voice. "Also, a few cartloads of javelins."

Morgan nodded to herself, muttering _"Finally"_ under her breath. Then she locked eyes with the pegasus rider. "Tell him to bring the train to the dock-area. The sailors there will take care of the loading, after I'm done listing up those supplies."

Chrom looked at Morgan for a while, his thoughts hidden to anyone attempting to divulge them from his face. Then he turned towards Cordelia, who apparently was still rather angry with Gaius. After having listened to Morgan, the pegasus rider had steered her mount a few steps away from her husband, leaving a distinct gap between the two. The glare-war continued rampant, till the crown prince cut it off.

"You heard her", he said, loud enough to once again catch the duo's attention. "Anything else?"

"N- No. That _was all_", Cordelia answered, her voice weakening towards the end of the sentence. Morgan was now convinced something was off about her mannerisms, but she couldn't quite point it out. _I'll ask Severa_, she decided, _she'll probably know_.

"You are free to leave", Chrom said, waving his right hand softly and turning his back on the rider. A disturbing sigh pierced the streets, and Morgan saw Gaius's eyes turn to frown, instead of a scowl.

"_Oi_", he snapped at Cordelia, who turned to show him a disturbed grimace, along with her apology.

"_Sorry._"

Gaius sighed, walking to his wife, and as much as Morgan would've wanted to follow the rest of their conversation, she was already being left behind by her grandfather.

A surprised shriek made the young woman turn her head back once more. Cordelia was sitting unusually straight, holding her backside and promising murder with her eyes. The young thief, in contrast, was grinning widely, dodging backwards as his wife brought her spear to bear.

Morgan shook her head at the situation's absurdity, and then dashed towards Chrom. After reaching his side, she began to skim through the recent supplies in her mind.

A few moments later she arrived to a conclusion; they would depart in three days, day after having loaded the rest of the supplies.

That meant more work with her papers, but for now, she would spend some quality time with her grandfather.

* * *

**Off-topic: **

**I'm happy to announce that during the next chapter, the Shepherds will already be on seas. And it will be an exciting time for sure. ****I have 2-3 planned scenes _before the sea battles_, but, like with the last two chapters that weren't part of the original plan, there may be additions.**

**I have an another announcement to make, this one is rather important: I asked people which mattered more, the ending, or the journey. The ending meant that I would rush to the ending as soon as I could, to make sure that I would finish this story. However, the journey meant that I would write the story as I intended to, fully fleshing out the characters and making them really come alive, and then, after everything is done, lead to an amazing ending that would be in par with the journey.**

**Well, I was told that it was the journey that would make it all worth it. It would also mean that finishing this story would take that much longer...**

**But I really want to try to write it like I have always wanted to. So, you'll probably be pleased to know that I won't shy away from the challenges that I will face writing this, as I will try to explore different aspects of this fanfic(it isn't _simply_ RobinXLucina anymore, although it will retain that element in its story) to their fullest(or rather close, at least).**

**FINALLY, a shoutout. After you have read this one, go at least bookmark the story '****THE CLASS OF YLISSE HIGH', written by SarcasticScribbler. It is a really funny and lovable story, with interesting plot points and lots of things to love.**

******There you go, see some of you in the reviews, and the rest of you never aga- I MEAN, in the next chapter :P**


	18. Chapter 18

**Off-topic: Alright, it appears that having a conversation partner, with whom to converse finer details about my next chapter really motivates me to write :P. So, here's the next chapter.**

**Yeah, I'm quite proud that I managed to already write it. I will probably spend the next two days making a full draft of the battle(I keep noticing stuff that needs to be clarified in my mind, so putting it on the paper is a better course of action)**

**However, this is a chapter that you guys have waited for(it doesn't fully solve the mystery, but I promise that the great moment is very close, perhaps only five chapters away).**

**I wish to notify that I'm in a process of exploring new ways of writing, and the most recent one is me writing a rough draft, then post-fixing it all in the end. I hope it works, but it might need more work to become a technique suitable for my use.**

**Alright, that's enough fancy talk. I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

* * *

**Everlasting Bonds: Wings of Despair**

_Memories_

* * *

It happened as Morgan had predicted; the Shepherds and their allies departed their home continent on the third day.

The beginning of their journey was smooth and mostly uneventful, except for a single storm that made their flagship jump uncomfortably. Immediately after the Shepherds heard Robin shout out in frustration, and then saw the tactician storm out of his quarters, lamenting his loss aloud. Everything on his table had been ruined by impudent stains of black goo, and the 'tactician's coat' he always wore had a big, obscure blot of dark ooze near abdomen; Robin had been sitting near the table during the accident.

After necessary moments of self-pity, the tactician attempted to at least save the coat from its grim fate. However, after the agonizing failure of washing off the dark blemishes, he glanced around to see whether anyone was staring, and muttered bitter curses. The coat had been his best piece of clothing, and it actually still was, regardless the ugly stain. He couldn't throw it away before he could order a new one of the same make, and it would take a long time, considering that they were going to invade enemy territory. Having learned his bitter lesson, the tactician resolved to always keep his work-table – and other stuff - in order; he didn't want to suffer like this for another time.

Little did he know about the snickers that came from Morgan's direction, or about Chrom's knowing nods; they had both beheld his calamity in near silence, knowing that it would change his character for the better.

Yes, it was an uneventful journey for the most part. Time passed, and the inevitable confrontation drew ever closer, causing anxiousness and removing excess levity from among the Shepherds.

Then the night preceding the battle came.

* * *

Dark sky opened above her like an arched dome, sinking into the far horizon. Untold multitudes of stars shone, fixed to the magnificent show of art that was the heavens.

Lissa leaned against the railing, gazing far ahead and considering the stars that lay there. _It's wondrous_, she thought to herself. _Even more beautiful than Plegia's night sky._

Although, the princess had to admit she didn't have many good memories of the desert nation. Mostly, they reminded her of the pain she had experienced, and emotional tearing she had felt while drudging through the desert sands, healing the wounded. And then there was a death; _the_ death. Her sister had died.

It was something the princess could now look back on and not shudder, but she wished not to dwell on it. It would divert her from the Shepherds' purpose that was to avert a total apocalypse and destruction invited by the Grimleal, worshippers of a dead god. Theirs was the god of nothingness and of absolute annihilation, and also of the process known as expiration; of decay and filth and the stench of death. The Fell Dragon Grima wished only for one thing, damn all else; non-existence.

That's how Lucina had said it, reflecting the bitterness she felt about the subject. Lissa's niece had gone through a lot in the grim future, and it was apparent to the princess that some of her wounds had not closed yet. Lissa hoped that Lucina would find her own answers, and bring peace to her young and troubled heart.

The princess shivered in the cold night air and brought her hands closer, rubbing them together briskly. The sage's robe helped her somewhat in warding off the cold, but she would have to return to her cabin soon. However, she still had something to do, something she always did.

She had formed a habit after Emmeryn's death; before each and every battle, she stood in vigil for a few hours. During that, she focused her mind, and gathered her will and determination. The whole process also included banishing inconvenient thoughts, like those causing her to dwell on the past.

Indeed, Lissa could hardly be called delicate anymore. Sure, Chrom and Robin loved to bring up her attitude at times, and even Lon'qu sometimes reminded Lissa about her ladylike mannerisms, but the princess wasn't anymore the person she had been before Emmeryn's death. She was different now; a generally more reliable person, and one that stood by her comrades, fighting alongside them, not cowering behind their backs. In the next battle, it would be her that covered the Shepherds' backs, deflecting bursts of magic arriving from the enemy's direction. She would heal, cast spells, and arm herself with the staff to smack enemies, if need be. She intended to help her friends survive the next battle, to keep them all intact, and by doing that, preserve their big, big family.

_Although I have my own family to take care of, too, _she thought, smiling at an especially bright star at the northern sky. She was married and even had a son, nowadays. Although her son was something of a paradox, as he wasn't the one meant for this time.

Still, it didn't matter to Lissa; Owain was her child, even if he was already a grown-up. Filial bonds were not that easily broken, after all.

She heard a sequence of dully echoing steps below the deck, walking towards the staircase leading to the main deck. Wooden planks creaked under strong stride of the walking person, much reminiscent of Lon'qu's movement. Soon after reaching the deck the steps became slow and soft, almost respective of Lissa.

"Chilly, isn't it", he greeted her.

"Mhm", Lissa answered, not turning away from the night sky. Instead, she tapped at the railing near her, inviting the person to come and gaze the stars with her.

The man chuckled almost inaudibly and stepped forward, comfortably taking his place at Lissa's right side. For a moment no words were exchanged. The two beheld the stars, and sweet melancholy of the situation quelled down all promising starts for a conversation. Lissa didn't mind. This was a good thing, a good moment to have.

Warm moments – ones that carved memories deep inside a person's psyche - passed. Somehow, it didn't feel so chilly for Lissa anymore; instead, she felt warm in the depths of her being.

She did not want to make her son feel uncomfortable, though. Thus, after a period of silence, Lissa opened the conversation.

"So… Have you spent time with your girlfriend, Owain?"

Owain's eyebrows dropped somewhat, but he did not turn to face her.

"… Mother, I don't have a girlfriend", he said.

"No?" Lissa asked, unconvinced. "Then why does Cordelia's kid stick to you like a shadow?"

"She was the first one I met, after cousin's summons came. We stuck together and waited for others to reach Regna Ferox."

Lissa thrust her lower lip out, disappointed at her son's prospects. "So there's _nothing_ going on between you two? Jeez, and here I was hoping to have my own grandkid… Not that I look forward to being called 'grandmother', mind you."

"It's not just me, mother", Owain continued with a level tone. "All of us… _future children_… are the same. We don't bond with each other that way. There is no rule for it. We simply don't do it, so that we don't lose as much when the inevitable happens."

Lissa blinked her eyes.

"But then what about that one guy? That… Iniquity? Enigma?"

"Inigo", Owain corrected. "He's the same. No matter how many women that guy charms, he never bonds with any one of them."

Lissa bit her lips. She had occasionally talked about the future with Owain, but this conversation was something else. It ate at her hopes and sensibilities, wishes and dreams.

The melancholic feeling on the deck was slowly shifting into despair.

"What about the parents, then?" Lissa asked, and worry crept into her voice. She dreaded for the children. "Are any of us alive in the future?" she continued her question.

"… All dead by the time most of us hit the age of eight", Owain answered solemnly. "Gerome's father was the last one to go. Only few veterans of The Dark Dragon War remained, but eventually… we had to survive by ourselves."

"… and what about me?" Lissa asked, immediately regretting her question as she saw Owain's face distort in sorrow. The young man turned to gaze at Lissa, as if to make sure she hadn't disappeared anywhere. After blinking a few times and failing to hide the pain of the past behind his eyes, Owain turned them away.

Uncomfortable silence prevailed on the flagship's main deck, and the chill wind bit again through Lissa's attire. The princess desperately wished she could have taken her question back, seeing as it was wrecking through her son. Indeed, she did attempt to do so.

"It's alright, Owain. You don't need to tell me."

Owain's answer came back with depressing gravity: "No. But you have every right to know." Then her son straightened his back from its downtrodden hunch, turning to face Lissa, while trying to keep up a wavering brave facade. "You fell four years after… my birth, when the Risen assaulted our main encampment in Regna Ferox. It was a great loss… Especially to… to…"

_*thump*_

Owain's hand hit against the railing, producing a dull sound. If Lissa had ever seen him distraught and discomposed, this was the moment.

"I understand, Owain", she said soothingly. "I don't want to know that stuff anymore, whether it be my or Lon'qu's death."

Her son's head jerked suddenly, and he turned around, taking a few steps away from Lissa.

"That's a different case altogether", Owain answered in a cold voice, but its unevenness betrayed his emotions. "He didn't die normally."

"Owain…" Lissa pleaded, but her son continued on.

"He died, because I wanted to be a hero", Owain stated angrily, reflecting his hidden feelings; what kind, and towards whom, Lissa didn't know.

The shock of Owain's words passed, but he still stood stiffly, his back facing Lissa. Then, after a few moments that had felt like minutes, the young man turned and nodded towards Lissa in apology.

"I'm sorry, Mother...", he said, "I need some time alone."

Then Owain strode through the doorway leading underneath the main deck. Lissa looked at his passage, and then at the dark entrance, wondering the sorrow that lay behind her son's words.

In the end there were no answers or solutions to Lissa's dilemma. The only problem that felt solvable was her need to sleep, and so she too withdrew to her quarters, laying herself on top of the uncomfortable bunk and fading into nervous unconsciousness.


	19. Chapter 19

**Off-topic:EDITED THIS CHAPTER!**

**Again, some changes to the writing style. This one was a surprise, I began writing and got stuck, and when I pushed on I found myself at the end of the story, rather liking what I wrote. I think this is one of my better chapters.**

**Enjoy. I'm not adding much crap before you are done with the story :D.**

* * *

**Everlasting Bonds: Wings of Despair**

_Worries, answers, and more worries_

* * *

It certainly felt grandiose to stand on the deck of the Shepherd flagship and watch the line of ships plow waves with the aid of the newest gust. The sails were bulging, as if determined to lead them all to Valm, even if it was really all up to the mages maintaining the speed.

Lucina stood at the bow, gazing towards the unknown continent of Valm. The gusts caused by the wind mages occasionally blasted her back, but the new, thick blue coat kept her warm. Only occasionally did her hair become disheveled, as the wind brought it forward to dim her view. It was a troublesome thing, and a result of nothing but foolishness. She had recently – by her mother's request - forgone the tiara that had held her hair together, only reserving it for the battles. Lucina did feel more comfortable without it, yet she felt vain. It didn't make sense to go through all the trouble so that she would look better in front of a mirror.

It wasn't all rain and gloom, though. Lucina's father had complimented the look, saying that it suited her. She still remembered how good _that_ comment had made her feel, deep inside.

The young woman turned to look behind her back. The other Shepherds were either relaxing - sitting against the wooden railing and enjoying the day - or training, swinging their not-so-sharp wooden weapons at the air, or possibly at each other. The foremost area of the deck was dedicated solely for that purpose, although the bow was an exempt from that. No one wanted to train in its cramped space and it offered the best view, so making it training-free area was a win-win situation for them all.

A single man waded through the practicing Shepherds, greeting them along the way. The shepherds answered his hails, some enthusiastically, while others simply muttering something polite-sounding. Regardless, they did not show bad attitude towards him, and that's what really astounded Lucina.

_They respect him as one of their own._

Reaching the few steps leading up to the bow, the man's gaze turned downwards as if he were afraid of stumbling. Lucina suspected that was not the case. More likely, the tactician was avoiding eye-contact, but Lucina couldn't tell whether even that were really the case. Regardless, the man did not keep his eyes downcast for long; it took only a short moment for him to lift them up and face the crown princess's frown.

"Lucina", he said, and nodded. Lucina stopped frowning – she didn't want to make the man feel unwelcome, even if he _might _have deserved that – and nodded back.

"Robin. I see you are finally up."

The tactician immediately grimaced, moving his mouth and eyebrows closer to each other, almost flattening his face in the process. Lucina did not know the man could make such expressions, and more to the point, she couldn't figure out why Chrom's probable murderer couldn't stop his own crust from cracking. Each passing day -as impossible as it sounded - she found it harder to consider him as an assassin.

"I admit sleeping late is a habit better forgone", the tactician said. Then he exhaled. Both of them said nothing for a while. Another gust of wind came from behind the tactician, whipping around his disheveled hair; the man stood his ground, clicking his tongue once.

"In any case… I figured I needed to talk with you", he said after a while.

Lucina turned her head sideways, not answering. The tactician shook his head, seemingly dropping into thought.

"… You have been making faces lately", he said.

Lucina blinked her eyes.

"…Faces?" she asked.

The tactician moved the back of his hand expressively. "More often than not, your expression shows sorrow, anxiety, and even fear. What ails you so?" he asked.

_You. Father might die because of you._

"… Sometimes, I think about the future. How it came to be, and what was lost", Lucina said. She walked to the left-side railing, laying her hands on it.

"Grim thoughts to wallow in", the tactician said. Lucina turned to face his gaze; the tactician's brown eyes looked emphatic, if not outright sad.

"It is where I come from, where my home lies", she said. "My thoughts are there."

"Rather than with Chrom and Sumia?" the tactician asked.

Lucina turned her head back towards the sea, seemingly intent on gazing the waves.

_Does he really care?_

"While the time spent with my parents is enjoyable to me, my goal is clear. Changing the future does not come easy", Lucina answered.

Another gale rushed past the two. Water kept crashing against bottom of the ships, and the noise it created formed a false sense of tranquility, which Lucina did not trust. Instead, the crown princess turned once more to see what the tactician was doing, and was surprised to see him leaning against the foremast, gazing at her direction. His arms were crossed, and the man showed no signs of stopping the conversation. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed, probably in thought. To Lucina, it felt like the tactician was evaluating her. She couldn't tell why. Maybe it was something that the man always did.

"Do you realize it's the bonds you share with Chrom and Sumia that will push you through any adversary?" the tactician said. "Even the river of time itself."

Lucina eyes widened at the man's words, and she couldn't help staring at the man in astonishment. The tactician chuckled, smiling at the crown princess.

"You should share your burdens with someone", he said, but Lucina shook her head. The tactician smirked. "Or do you think Chrom can't handle your load?"

Lucina stopped to think about it. "No", she finally answered. "If it's him…"

"Yeah, Chrom can do it alright. You need to give your father some credit every now and then. Your mother is a strong woman, too. It would serve you well to remember that, especially if you ever needed help from someone else."

Lucina fell into thought.

The tactician's words rang true. A lingering thought about his true intentions still wandered inside Lucina's mind, but after her recent experiences, she found it hard to doubt the man's motives. All of the tactician's actions showed that there was another side to him. He had helped Morgan with her worries. He had helped to fix the 'Owain situation'. And then the tactician had given advice concerning Lucina's worries, making her burden much more manageable. For that only, the man would have deserved her praise.

"Thank you", she said to him, "I think my load will be much lighter to bear, now."

The tactician nodded to Lucina. "Good", he said, pushing himself back to standing position from the foremast. "My business here is done."

Lucina nodded in goodbye, but the man stood still there, looking at ground. Then the tactician shrugged his shoulders, and lifted his gaze.

"That look suits you", he complimented her, nodding. As Lucina began frowning again, the man took his leave, marching through the practicing Shepherds, now joined by Morgan and Severa. Lucina could hear Robin call for Morgan and saw the girl leave Severa alone, as she burst towards her father, face full of smile and almost childish joy. Bittersweet feelings filled Lucina's heart as she turned away from the two, gazing at the waves again.

You could have one thing right, but the second thing would never come true. Finding that she longed something unattainable was painful. She found herself wishing for a closer relationship with Morgan, but but the girl had lashed out at her, leaving Lucina's heart torn asunder. The new feeling granted her no peace or rest; it was simply there, voiding all of Robin's previous attempts to make her feel better.

Waves hit the bottom of the ship again. This time the sounds, and their tranquil nature were accepted by Lucina as she gazed forward, solemn and silent. She did not dare to wish anymore.

One pair of light steps approached from behind, sounding almost familiar. Lucina turned around and was shocked to find Morgan standing there, looking distraught.

"Mother…" she said, holding her left arm. The practice sword was not present, probably left somewhere else, and the girl's hair appeared free, moving about with but the minimal assistance from the wind.

_Did she... really come to apologize?_

"Mother, I'm…" Morgan tried again, to no avail. Lucina had no idea how to start unraveling the awkward situation. She gazed around, unsure what she was seeking for, and found Robin staring at her and Morgan. The tactician nodded shortly towards their daughter, repeating the motion twice more.

His meaning was clear: '_You do it.'_

Lucina took a deep breath and stepped forward, softly pulling Morgan's head into her embrace. The girl swung her arms around the crown princess, hiding her face deep into Lucina's bosom. The crown princess waited patiently for Morgan's words, and after a prolonged moment the young tactician spoke.

"I'm sorry, mother. I said all those horrible things to you." Her voice started wavering, and its vibrations made Lucina teary-eyed too. She stood there, softly caressing Morgan's purple hair and hiding the girl in her arms. It was only after Morgan let her marked eye glance up, that the crown princess finally answered to her.

"I forgive you."

Both of them tightened their hold on each other, not intending to release the other person for quite some time. It didn't matter to Lucina that they were at the bow of the ship. It didn't matter that others might have been looking.

She was happy to be reconciled with her daughter again.

At the very moment she thought that, the low sound of the war-horn pierced the skies, scrambling up the resting the Shepherds and forcing Morgan to relinquish her hold on Lucina. The crown princess did the same, although she kept close to her daughter, for now was a bad time to let the girl out of her sight.

The tactician's familiar voice rang out, shredding any doubts Lucina had and lifting her mind closer to the highest state of alarm.

"The enemy fleet has been sighted! Shepherds, prepare for battle!"

* * *

**Off-topic: And done. I REALLY hope that there was some emotional impact at the end :P. I felt that the changes I made to my style made this story slightly more immersive, but it might just be me. I'd certainly love to hear your opinions on how this chapter and the changes you can notice worked out. Now I'm off to fixing one thing in chapter 17 that isn't valid anymore because of this chapter :D. See some of you in the reviews-section, and the rest of you in the next chapter(yeah, I'm not pulling that joke again :D).**


	20. Chapter 20

**Off-topic: ... Alright, so, news... Apparently, I am unable to write longer chapters. I find it hard to keep up the motivation if I write longer chunks. Also, my update speed suffers, which is doubly bad.**

**... So I stick to these shorter chapters, because honestly, this story is only good because I use this format. It would be bad idea to shift this in any way... I tried...**

**So, how about those good news? Well, first off, my English is much better now. MUCH. BETTER. I'm EVOLVING(Someone throw a Pokemon reference or something). Also, I am VERY PROUD of this chapter... Which doesn't happen often. I think I nailed some of the characters pretty fantastically, and I would love to hear your opinions on them.**

**Now then, with me sticking to the shorter format, I think I'll get more stuff done. I hope to hear you guys' opinions(by PM, if you don't believe in reviewing :D), and I'd love constructive feedback, too.**

**Have fun. Enjoy.**

**Yes, I'm not actually going to throw anything extraneous for you to read... Or am I?**

**...**

**Just enjoy...**

* * *

**Everlasting Bonds: Wings of Despair**

_Turtle tactics_

"Get the shields on deck, and afterwards, equip yourself with one! You won't be using it mid-combat, but it will be crucial before and after the melee!" the tactician commanded, his voice adopting the familiar sound of controlled shouting. Chrom watched as the Shepherds ran to do Robin's bidding, and soon the deck became an ordered mess as they piled the recently crafted rectangular shields on the main deck.

"Move leftover shields closer to the mess-door", the tactician yelled, pointing towards a door, behind which lay stairs that led to an adequately sized mess-hall. "Can't have ourselves stumbling over someone's wooden protector, can we?"

Chrom and some other Shepherds gave a few chuckles. The mood felt light, despite the imminent danger. Few moments before the battle, the thing that mattered most was the morale, and light humor abounding from the tactician's direction certainly amounted to an increase in the will to fight.

Chrom turned around looking for his daughter and spotted her emerging from the door leading down to the cargo hold. A smaller person followed after her, moving an uncomfortable, bulky shield around as if she were trying to get the feel of the thing. The girl tried to lift it above her head, shifting her balance barely in time to avoid toppling herself. Then she moved the shield to her front, resting its lower part on the deck. After tilting her head left and right a few times she nodded sharply.

Chrom smiled at Morgan's antics and proceeded to move towards Lucina, who was carrying two of the rather heavy shields on her own. The crown prince passed Lon'qu - who was grumbling at yet another shield - and some other Shepherds on the way to his daughter.

"Lucina," Chrom called. She turned to face him.

"Father," Lucina greeted perkily, then nodding towards the shields she carried. "Please, give me a moment," she said, laying one of her shields on the wooden deck – the one of her choosing, Chrom suspected – while keeping the other one and walking towards an organized row of shields leaning against a wall, close to the mess door.

"How's your day been, grandfather?" a cheerful voice asked from Chrom's side, forcing him to shift his attention. To his right, Chrom found Morgan staring at him intently and smiling so brightly that her face seemed to personify the sun itself. To summarize, it almost hurt to look at, yet the beauty of the sight was unquestionable.

Still wondering the reasons for Morgan's uplifted behavior in face of the battle, Chrom answered her question: "Huh? Well, just fine, I suppose."

It was then that he noticed Morgan's reddened eyes, and a wave of worry hit him. "Are you alright, young lady?" Chrom asked, locking his eyes with hers. "…Have you been crying?"

Morgan frowned. "It is alright now. It really is," she said, sighing. Her gaze kept to Chrom's eyes, and it did not falter. Chrom could feel no dishonesty in Morgan's words, and so decided to let the matter to rest.

"Alright then."

Morgan nodded again, and took a few steps closer, almost resting herself in Chrom's shadow. The young tactician began to inspect her shield again, knocking its surface and kicking its bottom part once. Scratching his neck, Chrom blinked his eyes at Morgan and turned to look for Lucina again. She was approaching quickly, having done away with the second shield. While her face was not as radiant as Morgan's had been, it did also hold some kind of optimistic sparkle.

Chrom sighed. It would not be long now till each and every member of his family became a luminous beacon of distracting glee. And speaking of the family, where was the tactician? He didn't seem to be on deck anymore.

Lucina's soft steps finally ceased. "So, what did you have to say, father?" she asked. Chrom ceased from trying to spot the tactician and shifted his attention to Lucina.

"Could you look after Morgan during this battle?" he asked. The young tactician standing near him sniffed loudly.

"I do not need babysitting," she claimed, looking upwards in what might have been dissatisfaction.

"Maybe so," Chrom said fully turning his body towards the shorter person, unable to let Morgan's comment go. "But every Shepherd pairs up with someone. Having someone guard your back makes for easier battles and besides, you hardly have any battle experience. After killing someone for the first time, you _will_ feel disoriented; if no one looked after you, it would become a very real possibility of having to hold your dead body in our hands."

"Father-" Lucina exclaimed, and Chrom sensed discontentment from her; however, he could not back down on this.

"Lucina," Chrom said, "Morgan has shown us she understands this isn't a game. She has the intelligence to face my words, and to make decisions according to them."

Then the crown prince turned back to his short granddaughter. She was pursing her lips tightly, and her eyes were downcast.

"Still thinking that you don't need to pair up?" he asked. The young tactician shook her head vigorously, her smile quickly waning as her eyes evaded Chrom's.

"No, grandfather," she answered, sounding solemn. "I understand your point."

"Good," Chrom said, relieved that Morgan understood his words´ gravity. He turned to face his daughter. "And will you look after her, Lucina?"

The crown princess leant forwards, rubbing her temples and breathing deep. "… I can hardly look after myself, father. Would Frederick not be a much better choice?"

"Probably," Chrom admitted, "But he is among the people we desperately need to board the enemy's flagship."

Lucina sighed, not answering, and Morgan looked at her direction, silent as well.

"How about you add a third person to the mix, to help you look after Morgan? Would that suit you two better?" Chrom asked.

A short silence prevailed. Then, suddenly, Morgan's silent attitude turned into enthusiasm, and she nodded her head a few times. "I want Severa to join us, mother!"

Lucina sighed immediately in response, small smile on her lips.

"Lucina?" Chrom asked. He received a surprisingly quick nod for an answer.

"Among us, Severa is one of the best anti-personnel fighters," Lucina said. Then she chuckled, smiling softly. "Well, perhaps not anymore. But she's still very capable, and I have nothing against her joining us in battle… If she does not mind."

"I'm sure she won't," Morgan said, dropping her shield down. "I'll go ask her immediately!"

With that, the whirlwind that was Chrom's granddaughter whisked away, giving neither one of the worried adults any time to finish their plans. Chrom stood his ground, feeling somewhat stupefied. "… Well, I hope this turns out well," he said, and marked Morgan's departure with an artificial sigh.

"…Mhm," Lucina answered shortly after. Chrom noticed how his daughter's eyes kept following Morgan all the way to her new friend. Lucina's eyes seemed puzzled.

Chrom sighed inwardly.

The question that Morgan's existence posed wasn't so easily answered. Lucina probably thought it an impossibility to even consider marrying the tactician. Still, the crown prince had already meddled in enough. If Lucina and Robin ever decided to follow the laid path, it would be of their own volition, not because he had orchestrated it.

With these thoughts, Chrom turned his face skyward, silently wishing luck for the two.

* * *

A loud and surprising burst of wind blasted over the Shepherds' heads, hitting the sails and flapping them briskly again. Guarded from the gusts as Chrom was, safely behind the walls holding up the upper-deck, the magical winds still managed to touch him, shortly running through his hair before dissipating as their magical energies dispersed. The crown prince looked at the main sail, now bulging because of the magic used. After gazing at it for a while, Chrom lowered his eyes.

Not so far away at the horizon, grayish-brown shapes persistently approached their fleet.

"Thanks again," Chrom heard a familiar and somewhat sharp voice say. He turned to see Robin talking with Gregor, both of them standing near the door leading below the deck.

_So that's where he was, _Chrom thought. He wondered why the tactician had even been in the cabins. All of their stuff had already been moved to the transport ships so that they would lose nothing in the planned fire attack.

"No, is smooth. Gregor will go tell Nowi you are alright," Gregor answered.

"I think you meant 'it is _fine_', Gregor," Robin corrected, and Gregor nodded.

"Yes, is smooth. Now I go." The mercenary turned to his right and left, leaving the tactician behind. Robin gazed after him for a while, as Chrom approached him.

"What was that about?" the crown prince asked, and received a frown from his friend. Robin's hair seemed a bit of a mess, and he appeared slightly pale.

"He got worried when I disappeared below deck," Robin answered.

"Any cause for concern?"

"… Just some headache."

"Will you be able to lead properly?"

"Mid-battle, it would have shattered my focus, but the whole episode seems to be already over. I doubt it will happen again, so yes, I think myself perfectly capable."

Robin focused his eyes on something past Chrom, and the crown prince shrugged, relieved to see that there were no problems before the imminent battle. He hit Robin's shoulder casually and walked to the middle of the main deck, some distance away from the tall main mast.

"Listen up!" he shouted. "I have to trust that everyone has prepared themselves sufficiently for the next battle, because we don't have much time! Bring your shields to the middle, and form the barrier as Robin taught you."

The Shepherds began swarming to the middle with their shields, taking their places in what would soon become a rectangular formation of shields. As the people tried to find their proper locations, Robin began shouting advice from the sidelines.

"Those who will assault the enemy's flagship go to the right side, along with Chrom and Frederick. Others, fill the left side. Not your left, my left! Morgan, just stay with your mother!"

Robin's instructions evoked hearty laughter from the group. Standing in the right-most part of the formation, Chrom saw Robin frown, but he said nothing. It was better for one man to grimace and morale of the group to be lifted, than for one man to be happy and the rest of them to frown.

Besides, Robin couldn't continue making faces for long, if he wished to be up to the task.

Organizing the people took a while, but finally, the tactician nodded, stepping forward with a shield to take his position at the top-right corner of the formation.

"First, the outermost soldiers lift their shields up," Robin said. The shepherds followed his orders, and a barricade of shields rose around them. "Now comes the tricky part. The rest of you-" he said, gesturing towards the people in the middle of the formation. "-lift your shields and organize them so that there are no holes above us. Mind your arms!"

Slow, rhythmic clatter ensued, as people in the middle lifted their shields up and formed a wooden canopy above themselves.

"Chrom, could you hold this?" Robin asked, nodding towards his shield. The crown prince nodded, stretching towards the other shield and keeping it straight, while the tactician began to thread in the midst of the newly formed shell, his head lowered.

"…You two are too far from each other, move closer. Keep the shields tightly together… like this," Chrom heard the tactician say from the distance. Otherwise, there wasn't a lot of noise; under the dim canopy of the shields, the only voices, in addition to Robin's speech, were the quiet mutterings between the parents and their children.

Chrom turned to look at his left, trying to find Lucina, and saw her speaking to Morgan. Their conversation didn't reach Chrom's ears.

The tactician's slow round was reaching its end, and he finally arrived to the spot as well. Giving off a short, low chuckle as he looked towards Lucina, Robin turned towards Morgan. Words were exchanged, none of them too loud, and then Robin embraced his daughter, softly patting her head. He turned to look towards Lucina for the second time, and Chrom could have sworn something passed between the two, something else than words. Both of them glanced towards Morgan and Robin said something, to which Lucina nodded. Robin nodded as well, relinquishing his hold on Morgan. After a few more words, Robin walked back to his place in the formation. The crown prince handed back the shield, pondering what kind of words had passed between the two.

Yet in the end, focus had to prevail, and so too did the crown prince concentrate on the approaching battle, fully intent on surviving it; for his own sake, as well as for his family's, and for the sake of their future.


	21. Chapter 21

**Off-topic: Well, its here. I'm not sure how the ending turned out, but the beginning sure was awesome... Figures I should write only when I feel like it :P.**

**Still, I'll gladly listen to your opinions and stuff. And really, just keep giving that critique, all that I've had has been phenomenal. If all critique is going to be like that, I can see myself prospering(sounds awesomely selfish, but heh).**

**I want to take a moment to thank you guys for taking the time reading this fic, and being awesome with your reviews. Not just that(although you'd better not say its good when it's bad), but you keep coming back chapter after chapter. It truly is humbling. From the bottom of my heart, THANK YOU.**

**... I might have to write something to commemorate hitting 50 favorites. Mind you, I'm not taking suggestions, only because I would probably lack the ability to write those or I wouldn't be so passionate about writing those. I bet you'd rather read me write what I am passionate about.**

**Aaaaaaand that's all for today. Enjoy this new chapter, and if you want, leave opinions, critique, and reviews, either on the reviews-section or by PMing me.**

* * *

**Everlasting Bonds: Wings of Despair**

_Against superior numbers_

Robin had once read that the most terrifying sound one could hear in any war was the whistling noise of hundred arrows travelling through the air.

Technically, there were probably less arrows pounding at their shields, glancing off or getting stuck to their wooden defenses, never fully piercing them. But Robin held to the thought that the slithering noise of arriving arrow rain wasn't the most terrifying sound that one could hear in a war, and in his mind the tactician also silently wished they would not hear that heartrending voice today.

Robin's wooden safeguard shook by the power of the arrows slamming into it, and the tactician surmised he didn't really want to hear this sound either.

"How long still?" Chrom asked, gripping his shield so that his knuckles shone white, even in the dimness of the shield wall. Or 'turtle shell', as Robin's books called the formation.

"At least three more barrages," the tactician answered, peering forward from the small gap he had opened between his and Kellam's shields. The now unarmored stealthy knight was clearly within Robin's sight, though whenever the tactician turned away his eye, he found out that the knight had disappeared. It made Robin wonder whether the whole left side of his field of view was merely a giant blind spot.

Hearing the dangerous cue of arrows whistling, the tactician hastily closed the gap between their shields.

"I don't like-" Kellam said, but his sentence was cut short by the new arrow barrage. Its effect was deafening, sounding as if the shields had been assaulted by an army of woodpeckers. The noise had a nerve-wrecking quality that almost made Robin drop his shield so that he could wring his hands. Hair below Robin's neck felt like it had been standing up for hours and the feeling showed no signs of going away.

The tactician saw Kellam stare above himself, to the shield held by Lon'qu. One arrow had pierced it just above the knight's head, jutting down towards his exposed nose. He stared at the aggressive arrowhead for a while, blinking once, then for the second time, and after that Robin stopped counting.

"… Thank you," Kellam said to Lon'qu, and the Feroxi swordsman grunted back.

_Delightfully gruff, as ever, _Robin thought, spinning his attention towards the rest of the Shepherds.

"This is really bad…," a fair-haired youth further back said, his face towards Olivia. Immediately after, a dull thump much akin to book hitting someone's head followed.

"Nehhehheh, don't be stupid, Inigo," Henry said. "You'll make it out yet, to make ou-"

"STOP! Don't finish that sentence!" the fair-haired youth, apparently named Inigo, shouted.

"… Not fond of jests, are you?"

"Your jokes always were of the horrible variety!"

The two stopped their bickering as cracking noises resounded in the shell. Arrows kept crashing down on them again, like a deadly flood firm in its intent to wash them away. This time, Robin heard a shattering noise from behind and a sudden pained shout. Snapping his head back to look, Robin saw Laurent holding his arm. Just above him, there was a rectangular gap on top of the formation.

"Maribelle!" Robin shouted. "Give your shield to whoever is near you and move to heal Laurent! Vaike, go hold Laurent's shield up!"

"The Vaike shall do your bidding- But you'll owe me extra provisions," Vaike answered with his enthusiastic voice, already shuffling his heavy body across the deck's heavy planks. They creaked in protest, as if eager to just give away beneath.

"Over my dead body… Or if you win against me in chess," Robin declared, fully knowing what Vaike's reaction would be. The Brute was an able warrior, but he sometimes had delusions of being a man of many talents.

"The Vaike doesn't shy away from any challenge! Consider those foodstuffs mine!"

Partly sighing, partly chuckling, Robin turned his eyes to Laurent. The young mage's face was a full grimace, not even bothering to hide the pain. Robin waited till his own voice would not quiver, and asked: "Can you still do your part, Laurent?"

The man breathed heavily under small shafts of sunlight, gasping suddenly as Maribelle laid her staff on his wounded arm.

"…After approximating the exhaustion caused by the healing, I think it is safe to say my capacity to fight in this battle is minimal. As for the plan, I might need a few supplementary hands," the pointy-hatted scholar answered. Robin made a mental note of how Laurent's voice did not waver, even during the distress and pain he must have felt. Reassured in his choice to make the mage part of his plans, Robin nodded to Laurent.

"You will not engage the enemy then," he said, turning towards the group that had talked aloud only a few moments before. "Olivia, I heard before the battle that you decided to pair up with your child. Is it still so?"

"Um… yes," Olivia answered from Inigo's right side. Henry was holding up a shield behind her, grinning in a manner that offended Robin's sensibilities.

"…You two have a new job. Keep Laurent alive and take his orders. He is crucial to this battle."

"Well, mother, looks like you got promo-" Inigo said, his voice drowning out as two other Shepherds began to yell.

"Hands off, Vaike, you don't get to meddle in with my patients!" Maribelle yelled, waving her staff in menacing arcs.

"The Vaike knows his stuff, Maribelle!" the bare-chested man snapped back. "You are protruding too much oomph through that stick of yours!"

"'Protruding? Don't even try to use fancy words, you bull-headed oaf! Actually, just stop talking, your yapping makes my ears rot."

"… Yapping?"

"SHUT IT!"

Out of wisdom or, more likely, plain fear, Vaike turned his head away from his wife, leaving Maribelle to her devices. After pointedly glaring murder at Vaike, Maribelle turned back to Laurent's hand. Her staff began glowing intensely, lighting up the area that had been so dim before.

"Why did I ever marry him?" she muttered sharply, and unsurprisingly, her angry voice rang out to anyone still listening in on the conversation, including Robin himself. _This is an awfully bad time for marital dispute, Maribelle, _the tactician thought, shifting his body in discomfort.

"For love, mum," a gruff man behind Laurent's former position suddenly answered. Not surprisingly, his name also eluded Robin's mind. _I'll have to fix that, _the tactician resolved.

"And it had a happy ending," the man continued, his face somewhere in the middle of a smile and and awkward realization, "Well, sorta. You both died together."

As if to punctuate his words, arrows rained again. The Shepherds' shields cracked in bloodcurdling manner, almost to the point of bringing a shout out of Robin's mouth. Yet no cries of pain ensued this time, to the tactician's enormous relief.

_These shields may not last, _Robin agonized and moved his shield to open up a space between his and Kellam's protectors. The tactician peered out of it, immediately surprised by the great looming sight of the enemy's flagship.

After the amazement subsided, the tactician gazed around to get a good view and spent a few moments making quick decisions. Then he closed the opening again.

"Their flagship is close," Robin said to Chrom, and the Ylissean prince nodded back, face stiff with determination. It was a look distinctly familiar to the tactician; last time he saw it was when the two had charged towards Gangrel in the middle of a melee, resolute to end the war between Ylisse and Plegia once and for all.

"Shall I give the final orders?" Chrom asked, turning to gaze at other Shepherds. The crown prince's eyes did not convey as much emotion as his other actions; he was grabbing the hilt of Falchion as if it were the only thing standing between enemy soldiers and his men.

"Yeah," Robin answered, pushing away the looming melancholy that came from dwelling in the past. It would serve no purpose in the battle. "If you would…?"

The crown prince suddenly raised his voice to yell, piercing through every conversation and argument inside the thin barricade.

"We are reaching the enemy flagship! Break this formation at my command!"

* * *

What was likely to be the final arrow of this volley slammed into one of the shields at Chrom's left, at least when judged by the time there had been between it and the last wood-shattering sound effect. Chrom steeled himself for what would come next. The air in his throat churned upwards, becoming a violent roar.

"Now! Break the formation!"

As wooden noises came from Chrom's right side and behind, the crown prince burst forward and took a look at the enemy ship.

He came to a sudden realization.

"Brace for impact!" Chrom shouted. There was no time to look for the right words. The crash was only moments aw-

A screeching, ship-shaking impact toppled Chrom off his feet, landing him on the side he had strapped Falchion on. Chrom's shield was lying a few paces away, thrown away in the sudden loss of balance. From ground, the crown prince saw Lon'qu, awkwardly on one knee, holding Lissa. She seemed to be alright.

"Chrom!" someone shouted. Immediately, two hands grabbed Chrom's forearm, pulling him deftly up.

Managing to get his feet in order, Chrom found himself face to face with the worried tactician. The crown prince waved his hand dismissively. "I'm alright. Good to see you didn't lose your balance as well."

"Well, I wasn't the one focused on giving orders."

"True," Chrom said. He looked around quickly, trying to find the knight who usually watched over Ylisse's royalty. "Frederick!"

"I am here, milord," a voice said from behind. The crown prince spun around, feeling his heart inside his chest pound out and eyes widen. The latter was a strange feeling, as if his eyes desperately wanted more room to expand to.

"Gah! You startled me! I swear, since losing the horse you became a lot more Kellam-esque."

"May I remind you two-" Robin said, nodding towards the enemy ship that was now, after the Shepherd flagship's shifting movement, immediately next to theirs. "-That this is neither the time nor place to hold a conversation!"

"He's absolutely right, milord. I would suggest we follow Robin's suggestion."

"That's twice the 'suggestion', Frederick."

"What was it about having an idle talk that you said?"" Frederick asked, softly spinning a silvery spear around with his fingertips. On his left hand the knight still wore the wooden shield, while others had probably left theirs behind. It would serve no practical purpose for a regular swordsman, not to mention a mage.

Robin lifted his hands, his face resigned. _He probably remembered we don't have any time for this._

After briefly checking that his belt, and thus Falchion, was still firmly buckled on, Chrom turned towards the bigger enemy ship. His hand went for Falchion's hilt and drew the blade from its scabbard. The golden blade that promised justice and mercy alike shined upon meeting rays of the sun.

"Assault force, to me! The rest of you, keep the men of that other ship off our backs!"

In mere seconds most of the older Shepherds had formed around Chrom and Robin, creating a wedge of sorts. Chrom gazed forward and saw their enemies, already up and armed again. The Valmese probably thought they would fend off the Shepherds' first assault.

_But they don't have a tactician like Robin, _Chrom thought, taking pride in the assurance he had in his friend._ Never will._

He took off in a sprint, and the rest of his men followed. Wildly fluctuating orbs of darkness and shining lines of edgy lightning flew past, as Chrom narrowly weaved past each obstacle, Robin at his right side and Frederick to the left. Some of the enemy magic was met with the Shepherds' own sorcery, although those collisions only happened, if the conjuration's arrival would have meant a quick trip to the afterlife for someone.

The former great knight managed to overtake the crown prince in his run, probably in an attempt to assure Chrom's safe arrival to the enemy lines. It was a futile endeavor, but the act embodied that which Frederick was; the royal bodyguard, ready to give his own life for Chrom or Lissa if needed.

The crown prince saw Frederick leap over the two railings right onto the deck of the enemy's flagship and smash the wooden shield against attackers that barred his way.

Chrom leaped over the railing as well, entering the field of battle as other ships of their fleet began to collide with the enemy's, leaving behind splinters and badly crushed hulls that floated on the sea-water, already tarnishing the before-so-tranquil waters.

The battle for their continent had now truly begun.


	22. Chapter 22

**HOLY CRAP, IT IS- Off topic: Right, sorry, forgot that... So, the news is that-**

**HOLY CRAP, THIS IS READY! AND IT IS GOOD!**

**Sort of. It will prove interesting, and the battle scene is undoubtedly best 'I' have ever written. I really hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I did enjoy writing it.**

**So just read and think on whether the wait was worth it(and if you find yourself willing, let me know). The next chapters will be much easier to write, so the wait will not be that long. It also helps that I have found again my desire to continue this story. So YEY!**

**Oh, and this is like my third-longest chapter up-to-date.**

**I hope you enjoy this.**

* * *

**Everlasting Bonds: Wings of Despair**

_Blitzing the enemy general_

Chrom's feet scraped the wooden deck as he landed.

On his either side, Robin and Frederick were trying to hold back a seemingly endless tide of enemy soldiers. The tactician chanted, left hand hidden inside his coat while the other fended off enemies with surgical strikes. Chrom also gave his sword a swing, pushing back all-too-eager opponents. The other Shepherds did not – or rather, could not – advance forward from their ship, as there was no space to encroach to; their enemy occupied it all.

Still, Chrom was not oblivious to Robin's plans.

"Ready!" Robin shouted from his side. Chrom steadied himself against the planks beneath, crouching somewhat, while Frederick disengaged from his own opponents and did the same.

Robin unleashed another command, one bearing a promise of surging power within its tones.

"Gale!"

Powerful current of air smashed against the deck, its streams unsuccessful in their escape to wherever there was any free space. The force of the spell sent the entire enemy front line stumbling, finally freeing enough room for Chrom to maneuver in. Other Shepherds crossed the railings, joining the fray; Vaike was first – to Vaike, everything was a competition - followed by Gaius, who literally jumped into the battle, backstabbing a soldier that had been far too eager for Robin's hide.

Soon, the rest of the Shepherds swarmed their small allotment of the enemy deck, hacking and slashing from their respective positions in the formation. Swords, axes and dark magic took out the downed foes. The prevailing mindset was 'it's either us or them'.

An arrow swished by where Chrom's shoulder had been but a few moments ago. He looked away from the battle for a moment to gaze upon the threat now present on the ship's upper deck. _Archers. Great._

Creaking wood betrayed an approaching enemy. Chrom snapped his eyes back to the battle, dispatching the charging soldier with a slanted slash to the chest. As the body slumped and fell down, Chrom turned towards the tactician and pointed his sword in the upper deck's direction.

"Robin! Enemy archers!"

Given Robin's position on Chrom's left side, the crown prince wasn't too surprised to see the tactician's eyes already directed there. He turned back, once more focusing into his own battle, and as he ran through another soldier's exposed side, Robin gave voice to his own machinations.

"Mages!" the tactician shouted, disengaging from the battle and waving towards the Shepherds. His brown eyes sifted through the crowd, and his finger leaped to point at the flamboyant archer firing off arrows as fast as fingers would let him. "You too, Virion! Focus on their ranged support!"

The tactician pointed at the direction from where the arrows were coming from, and Virion raised his bow to signify that he had gotten the message. Then he spun dexterously around and planted the left foot to establish a stance. His bowstring began singing again, each snap a vibrating sound. Chrom never saw the flying arrows, but he did manage to witness what happened when they stopped. A particularly nasty soldier, who kept popping up from behind the wooden railing and targeting the Shepherds, fell as one of the projectiles slammed through his chest. At the same time, orbs of shifting darkness and ever-so-accurate rays of lightning kept hitting upon the railing till the repeated battering shattered it, and the spells reached the archers taking safety on the higher ground. The destruction that ensued was magnificently terrifying, even brutal, but it got the job done.

Surviving the initial clash, the Shepherds dashed forward with Chrom leading them. His sword faced onward, ready to parry away and counter any incoming blows. His breath was still even, since Chrom was in the habit of being mindful of it. The whole thing was a trained habit picked up at Frederick's insistence, one meant to take off the edge from the exhaustion that would otherwise rear its head during the first minutes of the battle.

Chrom blitzed past the main mast, and three enemies rounded to confront him; two men following behind one seemingly more eager. The keen soldier had arms that were scarred beyond belief, their backs as red as the hottest spell-fire. Whether or not they were marks of the bravery, Chrom could not tell. As soon as their eyes met, the scarred soldier charged for Chrom, preparing his sword for what appeared to be a mediocrely calculated strike. _It wasn't the bravery that got him those scars, _Chrom decided. _Just recklessness._

He waited until the man's blade had almost reached Falchion's midpoint, then slammed it away with his sword and shifted the movement of his blade to chop at his opponent's left arm. The blow sunk deep, emerging through from the bottom. Screams of a person facing something he could not fathom followed, as the soldier grasped at the stump that had once held his left arm. Pitying, Chrom slashed Falchion across the man's throat, forever muting his cries. The armless - and now also headless - torso crashed down onto the recently bloodied wood.

The two men following behind slowed down their charge, clearly mindful of their companion's mistakes. They spread out to Chrom's both sides, keeping a solid distance. Cold and calculating eyes measured Chrom, their chill almost drowning away the voices of the battle. And then one of Vaike's shouts broke the illusion of silence.

"It flies, it hits, and the Vaike scores! Three-time winner of the Vaikeonship strikes again!"

Chrom let a smile slip and drew another breath, and the two men snapped forward like bowstrings, assaulting him.

"Thoron!"

Lightning crashed sideways, piercing through the man to Chrom's left. He fell, a look of hollow surprise on his face. The smell of burning flesh tortured Chrom's nostrils, but he willed it away from his mind and, resolving to thank Robin later, focused on the second attacker.

The strike came down hard; Chrom's opponent did not appear to be fazed by his companions' deaths. The rush of battle reached Chrom's head as he led the opponent's strike across the side of his blade, deftly parrying it. Leaning forward, Chrom slashed across the length of his opponent, but Falchion hit only air as his opponent sidestepped the attack. The soldier snarled, and Chrom lunged forward, but the deck quailed and Chrom found his footing severely challenged by this surprising new development. He slid his left foot back somewhat, managing to regain his balance, and turned to see his opponent almost downed on the deck, trying to rise up from his knees. Chrom dashed towards him again, this time sliding his right foot forward and maneuvering Falchion below the axe-blade lifted up in hasty defense. His sword found the haft, then the fingers, and finally, his opponent's right arm. The blade continued through the biceps, hitting the armor, and its unnaturally durable blade echoed. For the smallest moment Falchion almost stilled its movement, but as Chrom put more weight behind the blow it finally sliced through the breastplate, leaving his opponent standing agape. Blood dripped onto the deck from the enemy soldier's mouth. One pair of eyes looked back to Chrom's, and for a single moment silence prevailed.

Then a blast of noise drew Chrom back to the present, and his vision regained some of its wider scope. Another body lay now on the deck, its side bloodied and eyes staring blankly, hollowed by death.

"Chrom!" Robin shouted. Chrom moved his eyes away from the corpses, glad to leave the sight behind.

"What is it?"

Robin pointed towards the back of the enemy ship. Near a wooden wall and the stairs leading up to the ruined upper deck there was a man clad in white and red armor, shouting orders to the enemy soldiers. His eyes beheld the Shepherds, sweeping through the about fifty men that belonged to their assault force. _The enemy general. _Chrom nodded, and the tactician turned to face the rest of their troops.

"Full-on charge! Follow Chrom!"

The sheer volume of the Shepherds' war cry gave energy to a stampede that roared through the enemy lines like the bloodthirsty mobs so vividly living inside Chrom's memories. Invigorated by the shout's euphoria, Chrom faced the first approaching soldier and slipped past a prepared deathblow, bringing about his own. He swung upwards, from below the shoulder where the man's armor was being held together by leather straps and the like. Blood gushed out from the wound, and the man shrieked until Chrom brought Falchion to his unarmored side, impaling him. A limp body thumped elegantly down, as if there were more dignity in death than life.

Chrom turned his head around, taking in the scene of the battle. The enemy general wasn't that far away from them anymore. In fact, his facial expressions were clearly recognizable from behind the two or so rows of enemies, scorching anger flaring with unrestrained hatred. _Good, stay like that, _Chrom thought. Those with zeal made for easier kills, and Chrom would not hesitate to use the man's anger to ensure his demise. Those who oppressed the weaker populace at the behest of the mighty were the lowest of the low, after all.

"Chrom, Frederick, it's time!" Robin shouted, running to Chrom's side. Frederick took his place at the crown prince's right side, a few steps ahead from him as always.

Gladdened by the fact that Frederick never did that during meetings of political nature, Chrom nodded towards their enemies and charged, while Robin and Frederick kept to his pace, two arms' length to his either side. The rest of the Shepherd troops brought their forces closer, tightening their lines, shadowing their advance while grinding through the enemy with fearsome resolve.

Hearing the dying wail, Chrom rushed toward two enemy soldiers, taking on the one to his left while Frederick jabbed his spear violently toward the other, disrupting a nigh-perfect chance for backstabbing. Falchion flashed forward like a blinding ray of light, its flat side turning aside a strike probably meant for gauging Chrom's skills. Before the prince's opponent could strike again, a sword pierced his chest from behind, the blade protruding two inches from his stomach. Death came with a gurgling noise, and Robin had barely any time to pull out his sword before the man fell, puking blood and bile.

"Milord! Look out!" Frederick cried out, his heavy steps ramming against the wood below.

Without losing a beat, Chrom gave way to his instinct and slashed wildly to his right. He felt his sword hit something soft, not giving way before its target. Blood spattered, and his throat split, Chrom's new assailant found himself downed.

Robin glanced at Chrom. "The best swordsman in the whole Realm? Talk about an understatement," he said, dashing ahead and beginning a chant. Chrom recognized it as the one that would call forth the lightning.

"_Fire from the heaven…"_

Chrom followed Robin's initiative, but was immediately forced to re-evaluate their position as he saw the familiar-looking combination of red and white rumble towards their position.

"Robin!" Chrom shouted, darting forward as if fire had caught onto his britches. He saw Robin slash at a scraggy-bearded soldier, disemboweling the leather-armored man, and then turn around, but too slowly, as if suddenly fatigued. Chrom screamed mentally while running, cursing their carelessness. _Make it! Make it! Gods, don't let me be late again!_

A spearhead swung against the tactician's side, but where there had not been a blade to parry the blow, suddenly lay a silvery pole, steadfast as its owner. Steel trembled against the metal of Frederick's lavishly ornamented spear. After testing his strength against Frederick's, the enemy general pulled back his spear and backed off, step by step.

Time was not given, mercy was not requested. Blades that flared in the afternoon sun assaulted the enemy general's sides, Chrom and Robin upon him like a flood of flies. Chrom struck at the joints in the armor, darting about their opponent's side while Robin kept targeting the enemy general's head, spinning, stabbing, and chanting. Always chanting.

"_The great spear of heat…"_

The enemy general's face burned with rage as he struck, swinging his spear at Robin's side again. However, Frederick's thrust forced him to lift his shaft upwards in defense, forgoing the offense and leaving him wide open for Robin's spell.

"Thoro-oof!"

An armored kick thumped into Robin's stomach, slamming him against the wooden wall. Chrom's eyes narrowed and his field of view sharpened as he saw the tactician lie still.

A spear-blow came for Chrom, and then another. He registered his enemy's attacks as if he were writing a letter, calm and collected, even detached. Dodging his opponent's rage-fueled strikes, Chrom smashed his sword against the opponent's armor joints whenever he got the chance. Frederick kept their enemy occupied as well, but the opponent's armor stood strong.

A sudden strike with the spear shaft caught Chrom to the ribs, even when the prince had brought his sword to defend against the blow. Its strength sent him sprawling to the side. Frederick's defensive strike was countered with equal poise, and the royal knight faltered.

And then the opponent's spearhead came for Chrom's undefended chest.

He heard silent murmuring from ahead, and instantly after, a mighty crackle. Light swarmed Chrom's vision, and sharp cries - alongside slurs - resonated in the chilly sea-wind. Familiar screech hit Chrom's ears as Frederick hit his spear through weakened armor joint, stabbing the armpit and then relieving his spear of its target. His second strike pierced the central chest-area just above the steel pantaloons. The Valmese general slumped to his armored knees.

"May… the Conqueror rule… forever…" The general's words dropped from his lips like lead, stiff, laden with chilling adoration for his ruler. Then he crashed down against the wooden deck.

Their target was finally down.

Chrom was trying to focus his eyes as Frederick approached him, offering a hand. _That's twice today now, _Chrom thought. He reached for the offered hand and let the knight help him up, feeling a sharp twinge in his ribs as he stood.

"…Gods. I miss the times when I could survive a battle without suffering any blows," Chrom said.

"And when exactly were those times?" a quiet voice asked from the distance.

The crown prince looked forward and nearly killed himself with joy. "Robi-argh! The pain!"

"I'm sorry to intervene, milord, but shouldn't the tactician already be sending the sign for Lon'qu and the others?"

"You say that to him yourself," Chrom said bitterly, his side still smarting. Frederick chuckled, much to the prince's discomfort, and did as his lord had ordered.

"You heard him, Robin."

"… No rest for the wicked," the tactician answered in a frail voice, starting the painfully familiar chant for his lightning spell. His intonation was cracking and weak, but even then there was a lingering determination in his speech.

He brought his arm forward, aiming it above their ship.

"Thoron!"

The spell slung through the air and into the sky, crossing over the "Emmeryn" as a sign that would bring the Shepherds' assault force reinforcements, so that they could bust out from this ship.

"Well then..." Robin said, straightening up from his slump and wincing. "Shall we see which party manages to cover more ground with their charge?"


	23. Chapter 23

**Off-topic: I managed to do it. I managed to top chapter 22. :D**

**Basically, if we compare the two, this resonates within me more than the last one.**

**Also, I forgot to mention someone that helped me a lot with the battle scenes. I want to thank the writer of 'Cerulean Heart', Kiwii156, who helped me see the folly of having so many viewpoints. That's fixed, and the battles have a better flow now. Thanks, Kiwii.**

**Go read his fic at some point(preferably sooner than later). He is further along than I am, though I gotta say, our focuses are different enough that it doesn't become a competition.**

**Alright. I hope you enjoy(this time, I know you will, hehhehehehehehehehh) delving into the world of Fire Emblem.**

* * *

**Everlasting Bonds: Wings of Despair**

_Before the sea lights afire_

A yellow bolt lit the sky above.

The Shepherd forces were split in two: their assault force which fought on the enemy flagship and those on the 'Emmeryn' who fought against the Valmese forces invading from another ship.

As remainder of the coruscation faded, those of the Shepherds that had been keeping back the enemy forces attacking from the 'Emmeryn's' right side rallied under the fiercely slashing Feroxi swordsman, who was calling for the attention of those that still had a part to play in the tactician's plan. Thunder of a dozen footsteps hit the deck as they crashed straight into the enemy line, and on the other side, the trapped Shepherds raised an exhausted battle cry and followed their example. All manner of weaponry clashed in the grand melee of the three groups. Air above the enemy ship blazed in feverish yellow, occasional squalls ripping through the sparkle and fire that lightning created. In the midst of the chaos Plegian sorcery reigned unopposed; dark orbs of hypnotic oscillation flew at almost regular intervals, coupled with shadowy mires that could only be perceived by the dusky tendrils curling upwards from the deck.

The enemy flagship became a place where sparks and gusts made it hard to see what transpired.

But that was not where Morgan's eyes were; in fact, her eyes were tightly focused onto the second scene of the battle while her hand tightly grasped the hilt of her sword. Revolting mass of blood and bile adorned the blade, and liquid trickled down towards her hands. Only a few steps to the side, her mother fought alongside Severa, Morgan being the last link within the line of three. She could see her mother's sword flash alongside Severa's daggers, and would have watched longer, if not for the twisting feeling inside her stomach.

An enemy charged right at her. In the depths of her mind, Morgan realized she must've seemed like an easy target, weak and wretched. On top of that, she could feel the bile rising up her throat.

Desperate to ward off unwelcome attention, she cut the air with her sword. Unable to recall her lessons and to make decisions based on the rationality of her options, her only choice was to lean onto the instinct that whispered inside, proposing the next course of action and correcting the slide of her blade as she gutted the Valmese soldier.

_More blood. Risen never bled._

Nor did they voice so disheartening cries as their existence bled out. Morgan gritted her teeth and stepped back. Then her knees buckled. The need to hurl surfaced again, nigh unstoppable in its urgency. Morgan gasped and swallowed hard, then glanced quickly at the battlefield raging in front of her eyes before pinching her nose and gulping again. Somehow, some way, the bile backed down in her throat, though Morgan could feel the bits and pieces of her breakfast grind against her gullet.

"Glad you got rid of the dastard," Severa said, tugging free one of the daggers stuck to an enemy soldier lying near her feet. She made an attempt to continue her chatter - for Morgan's benefit probably - but stopped after glancing at her face. "…That bad, huh?"

Morgan wasn't able to answer; her vision swayed. She lifted her hand to hold her forehead, trying to focus her eyes again as her teeth ground with the effort. Splitting headache, accompanied by the queasiness under her ribcage, rattled her head and made void all of her attempts to concentrate.

'_Don't will it out, Morgan, or in the end, the stress will end up engulfing you.' _Her father's words, teaching the basics again.

'_Take it in. All of it.'_

Morgan exhaled, then took a breath in. Slowly, through repeated effort, her eyesight stopped attempting somersaults. Soon Morgan's vision became stable enough for her to try pointing her sword at someone again.

She walked to her friend, sword leaning forward and her eyes following the suit. Severa nodded to her and Morgan flashed back a weak grin.

Maybe it wasn't so bad, with friends like these.

Just a few feet forward from them fought Lucina, thoroughly invested in the battle. Her Falchion cut in large swaths, holding fore of the enemy forces at bay while Owain covered her right flank_**. **_When, or how, the two had begun their stand, Morgan did not know, but she could guess at the reasons.

There and then, the young tactician felt profound gratefulness towards her mother who had protected her during the moment of her weakness.

* * *

Laurent turned to look at the sky again, the sky across which the golden light had traveled, as a sign for others than just Lon'qu. Then he clenched his fists, gathering all of his resolve, and inhaled. For the moment, the battle was outside, far away from his meditation.

Then he shouted with strength unusual to his scholarly persona.

"Inigo!"

The young swordsman was feinting towards his opponent's legs. As the enemy dodged, Inigo followed, his blade guarding his passage while his elbow lead straight to the jaw, cracking it the wrong way. Another strike from the side, and the enemy soldier was down.

"Mother, it is time!" Inigo shouted. "Owain, take care of-"

But the youth of royal blood fought further ahead, alongside Lucina, Severa and a purple haired girl.

"Inigo!" Laurent called again, feeling his resolve slowly slipping away. Really, he would rather have _not done _his part, but there was too much at stake here.

Frustrated growl escaped from Inigo's lips as he spun around to shout to the two warriors further down the line. Or, to be precise, one of them. "Noire! Find someone to take my place, I have to be elsewhere!"

The young and surprisingly attractive – at least, if one was not privy to her eccentricities – archer nodded, eyes twinkling. There would surely be a price to pay for the dashing swordsman, and Laurent tried to push away all thoughts concerning what it could possibly be.

Both Inigo and Olivia – latter clothed in a distractingly revealing outfit – walked briskly to Laurent, and then they continued towards the doorway that would lead them down to the 'Emmeryn's' hull. As they did so, Laurent turned his head to see Olivia put her hand down on Inigo's shoulder, soft palms passing on the courage of the elderly generation. After that, her eyes turned towards the scholar, and her gentle smile proceeded to encompass him into its magic as well.

Laurent blinked once, feeling some of his earlier tension dissipate. He upped his pace to a hurried shuffle, and soon, they reached the door. Laurent pulled it open, not minding its peculiar creaking, and grabbed the lantern hanging against a nail half-way driven into the wall, lighting it up with a murmur of a spell.

They began to descend, Laurent's troubled steps in contrast to those of Inigo and Olivia. Short, and somewhat strained, breaths echoed in the increasingly cool air. After traversing a full circle, they reached another door that opened to a short - and very dark - wooden corridor. The whole space smelled of mold, despite the ship being new.

"Remember," Laurent warned them, "whatever you do, don't draw your sword."

"I won't. And you mind that lantern, being roasted in oil is not a death that I would appreciate," Inigo answered.

_It's not the oil that I worry about, _Laurent thought, but gave it no voice. Instead, he paced to a door only about ten feet away, plastered to the left side of the corridor like a steel prosthesis on a mercenary. Laurent laid his trembling hand to the doorknob and, after breathing in deep, pushed the door open.

The room was about thirty by twenty feet, held up by a couple of massive supports. Barrels of same make filled the room, coated by a smooth dust layer. In the lurid light of the lantern, the barrels in the middle revealed a dark red X-mark.

Laurent cleared his throat. "Watch the doorway."

"That's it?" Inigo asked.

"Almost. Take my lantern_._"

After handing off the lamp, Laurent shambled to one of the room's dark corners where a sizable cotton bag rested comfortably. He took hold of it and lifted it up, despite the uncomfortable weight pressuring against his weakened arm. Even without that, Laurent would have still felt uncomfortable, but at least now the substance inside had been exposed to air for so long that it wouldn't combust immediately.

Then again, if any kind of spark found its way to this room, they would _all_ die.

He shuffled towards the cluster of red-marked barrels. As he did so, Inigo gave him a doubtful look. Laurent tried to ignore it, but Inigo's eyes kept to him the whole distance.

"Laurent… What's in that bag?"

The scholar swallowed. "You'll see soon enough," he promised, but Inigo stepped closer, glow of the lantern following. "Stay at the door!" Laurent snapped.

Inigo stopped. Even in the near darkness, it was apparent that his face was paling.

"Don't tell me…" he said after a short while, but Laurent had already knelt down to the marked barrels and was opening the straps holding the bag's mouth shut.

Then he poured half of the black, grainy substance to the midst of the barrel cluster and began forming an artificial fuse with the rest of the powder.

* * *

Morgan barely registered the mighty racket behind herself as she darted below her opponent's blade. Her sword screeched against her enemy's, who – according to the silent whispers inside her mind – would not expect her next attack.

With a low-pitched yell, Morgan sent her kick onwards and landed it on the enemy soldier's knee, bending it backwards so that it snapped. The soldier cried out as his weight fell against the awkwardly twisted leg, and Morgan jumped at the chance. She cut twice, left and right, and blood spurted out. This time she was mindful of it. She dodged with deftness of a small animal, sidestepping the blood spurting from the gaping wounds.

When she finally felt more conscious of her actions, the man was already lying on deck, dead to all but his pain. Feeling a twinge inside her, Morgan lifted her sword for the final blow, one that would send the man to whatever would exist _after_. She gathered her resolve, her willpower, and all that she had to the point of her blade, willing it downwards.

Then, against combined power of both her will and determination, the sword fell to her side. For a moment, she felt bitter disappointment at herself.

One strike of the golden sword shut down the last of the man's screams, and laid him to rest. Lucina flicked her blade to the side to get the blood off and turned towards her daughter. _Worry. She's worried._

"I won't say you should have killed him while he lay there," Lucina said, nodding towards the body. Then she smiled. "If anything, I am glad my daughter has a conscience."

Morgan swallowed, feeling something heavy in her throat. She quickly nodded towards her mother, but tried to avoid her eyes. There had been enough tears for this day already.

As she looked at what was happening behind her, she realized the reason for the racket; the surrounded Shepherd assault force had charged through, together with Lon'qu's men, and now fought on the right side of 'Emmeryn's' deck. Morgan could not but dully note that they weren't as numerous as when they had charged in.

"Lucina!"

The cry came in a voice very familiar to Morgan, and she turned sideways to see Chrom approaching them, legs hitting hard against the wood as he ran.

"Grandfather!" Morgan shouted, unable to hold her excitement. Then, as she gave the returned Shepherds a quick look, a cold hand rose up her stomach. The Feroxi swordsman was there, as were Gregor and that strange dark mage. But her father…

"Morgan. I'm glad you're not among the casualties," Chrom said as he reached them. Drops of perspiration ran on his forehead and jaw, though he didn't look much worse for the wear. Then again, it was probably that breathing technique he had attempted to teach Morgan, though it was not the time to think about that.

"Where's father? Is he safe?" Morgan asked, feeling control give way before hysteria.

Chrom smiled towards her and Lucina both. "Easy, Morgan. He went to check on Laurent downstairs."

The relief was such that Morgan's shoulders slumped, heavy as if they had suddenly slammed downwards. She gave a loud sigh, and then glanced towards her mother. For the slightest moment, Morgan thought she saw her mother's lips curling slightly upwards, but then Lucina's face was even again, not really a mask but rather the face she faced her life with, face filled with past sorrows but also happiness from having met her father. Just like when Morgan had found her and Robin.

Chrom gazed past the two, towards the left line fighting about twenty feet ahead. "We'll be off this ship in a few minutes' time. Laurent should be just about done," he said. Then he added: "When the order to retreat comes, obey _immediately._ I hear the time-frame isn't all that long..."

This time Morgan was sure she didn't imagine it; a flash of horror visited her mother's face.

"It isn't…" Lucina said, lifting her voice over the battle while gazing towards her line that waved dangerously back and forth. "Last time, we had barely ten seconds… Not everyone made it to safety."

"Laurent promised we would have at least forty, saying the preparation would do the trick." Even after saying that, Chrom seemed discomforted. His left fist was clenched, while the other hand held the Falchion.

With all the clatter of weapons, all the cries of the living and dying, and the somber words she heard Chrom and Lucina exchange, Morgan couldn't help but feel that the tension had no way of rising up.

She was lucky though, having her training in tactics and strategy. There'd been enough sensibility in her to leave room for doubt, and when her father burst out from the doorway with Laurent, Olivia and Inigo, she could feel the tension shoot upwards like a magic-propelled javelin.

"_**EVERYONE RETREAT, NOW!"**_


	24. Chapter 24

**Off-topic: I'm not gonna say a thing. Just read it :P.**

* * *

**Everlasting Bonds: Wings of Despair**

_Trauma_

Robin had to give the Shepherds credit for how their lines collapsed: it was less of a mess than he thought it would be.

The two lines fell back towards the two staircases leading to the upper deck, from where the Shepherds would jump into the water and swim away. In the hurried escape, some managed to grab wooden shields from the pile that had appeared after the crash with the enemy flagship, while the others - those holding back the enemy forces while the first bulk of the Shepherd forces ran up the stairs - could not do that.

_I sure hope they can swim_, Robin thought as he started towards his opponent, suddenly changing the angle of his blade. It would not have been effective had his opponent been heavily armored, but the case was not such; the blade slipped past his opponent's defense and slashed shallowly through his right arm. Not a grave wound, but it would incapacitate the enemy soldier for a long enough time.

As the retreat continued and even the remnants of Shepherd forces reached the stairs, Robin could almost physically feel each second pass and the danger grow. Memories of Laurent's horrified face came to mind, the face he had worn when Robin had asked him questions about his flashy fireworks launched in commemoration of the Children meeting up with their parents again: '_Tell me, what's the substance that makes those explode? Can you make more? How much more?'_

"Father!"

This was not the voice that meant all was right with the world. Robin slashed the closest soldier's shoulder and glanced towards Morgan who had taken her place at his side.

"Where's your mother?!" Robin asked, flicking his sword murderously towards his enemies. He wasn't supposed to be standing here; they had to retreat as soon as possible.

"She should be with Owain and Severa!" Morgan answered, perhaps a bit too quickly. Robin frowned at the implications. He was almost certain that Morgan had left her mother alone while dashing for him.

"Alright, now run!" he shouted, prodding Morgan towards the staircase and taking on the two approaching soldiers. Chrom's backhanded sword strike took out the other opponent while Robin made sure that the second one could not follow anyone anywhere.

Then they both bolted towards the stairs, following after Gregor. As Robin laid his first step on the stairs he glanced up and saw his daughter, who had just reached the top of the stairs, looking down towards him. Her face shifted to one filled with agony, even the fear of a possible loss. The very sight of it felt like a jagged knife had been thrust into his guts and twisted violently. Robin barely resisted the feeling of bending double and instead pushed on, running up as fast as he'd ever done.

Seeing her father approaching, Morgan's face became set with determination. Her low-pitched, usually cheery voice began chanting a spell, threatening death to all enemies following her father up the staircase.

Robin reached the upper deck shortly after Chrom and Gregor. He took a quick glance behind; a dozen enemies were still charging after them, like a pack of those muscular hunting dogs so usual in the southern parts of Ylisse.

At that moment, Robin would have grabbed Morgan and ran, if not for the fear of disrupting her spell-casting. The magical energies, volatile as they were, would have surely backfired.

As his daughter kept chanting, eyes half-closed, he felt the ambiguous count of the fuse ticking as surely as his heart beat, on and on towards the inevitable conclusion.

"Bolganone!"

Robin's eyes shot wide, and his mouth let out a surprised yelp. He had been so focused on retreating that he had not cared to check what words Morgan had used. Now it proved to be the worst possible outcome.

The air around the enemy soldiers drew together and exploded in rapid succession. Trembling wave of molten rock expanded from the center of the spell, eating the screaming soldiers alive. Then it seeped towards the wood below and began to crackle ominously. Dark smoke rose from the corpses and wood, finalizing the scene of absolute destruction.

Robin grabbed Morgan by her forearm and shouted, "Run!" Half-pulling, half-yanking, he woke up the junior tactician from her trance-like state, forcing her to find her feet as they both ran towards the back of the ship.

Gregor was the first to jump. Chrom stopped at the railing to look at Robin and, after seeing that the tactician would soon follow, jumped off as well. Neither of them had shields, but as far as Robin knew, Chrom was a decent swimmer. And Gregor could always find someone to help him.

Thinking the strangest thoughts for one standing on a battlefield, Robin hurled his hands around Morgan, having no time to hesitate, and pushed off the railing, to the air and towards the cold, dark waters.

As the cool air swirled against them both, Robin wondered why the explosion had not yet gone off. _It should've. The time was fifty seconds, and from the upper door, forty._

The water slammed against his face. As Robin became fully immersed into the cold nothingness, the liquid chill began constricting his chest, stealing away his breath. The warm day on the ship's deck had not prepared Robin for the shock. His first reaction was to try drawing a breath, but he stopped before he could drown himself out of stupidity. The tactician let go of his daughter, gently pushing her towards the direction he perceived their fleet to be in.

The entire sea shook, and the masses of water above parted away as if hit by a massive mace. Rapid, ferocious currents appeared out of nowhere and debris swirled past them like sharp daggers. Robin found himself dragged into a powerful whirling movement that spun him back and forth till he did not know which way it was up. His lungs started screaming for the air. He waved his arms around in desperation, trying to stabilize his direction and movement.

Then something slammed into his head in the blurry underwater chaos, drawing the light from his eyes as if someone had painted the sun black.

* * *

The first sound Lucina let out was a half-scream, half-gasp, demanding for air. She could feel water - and more - in her eyes. Everything was blurry, thanks to the accursed sea-water.

Everything was a mess; her sense of direction, her hair that was held together by the circlet, her face… Well, the last one was more of a suspicion than a fact.

And then it hit Lucina; Morgan, who had run off towards her father during the battle, wasn't present. _So i__s she with Robin? And where is father?_

Lucina swung her arms in wide motions she had learned during the years of running and hiding. That way, she covered some distance, but all she could find were other children and their parents. There was no Morgan, nor Chrom; only debris on the water, debris under the water, and even debris raining from the air.

In fact, the sea was so full of debris that Lucina was starting to realize the full depth of the situation. She spun around, and what she saw _frightened _her. Their once glorious flagship wasn't there anymore and the two enemy ships were now plagued by a blazing inferno, the sides that had once faced 'Emmeryn' caved in as if smashed by a giant hammer. Even the water burned, large and small pools of oil drifting according to the whims of the sea currents.

_All part of the plan, _Lucina thought, trying to stay resolute. Yet she could not help feeling horrified when confronted with the result of their choice to use something so _destructive. _The feeling was magnified when she looked over the blood-red water lit by the frolicking flames.

She tore her eyes away. Her obligation was to Ylisse only, and even in the Realm, her duty was only towards a select people. She could not afford to lose her resolve now, even when faced by horrors of this scale.

Further away, she saw the Shepherd navy lit itself on fire, one ship at a time.

* * *

Chrom emerged from the water absolutely sure that he would die. Gregor surfaced alongside him, gasping for the air while stopping all of Chrom's attempts to breathe with his panicked hold.

"_You are a mercenary,"_ Chrom muttered, feeling his mind going blank of the lack of air. _"Learn to swim."_

"Gregor a master swimmer in knee-deep water. Not a sea person." The rugged-looking mercenary coughed heavily, and his hold slipped so that Chrom got a single gasp of the sweet air. Then he began coughing as well.

They had been under water too long; Chrom had tried to help Gregor towards the surface, and the mercenary had tried to help him, always to Chrom's detriment. The urge to hit Gregor's lights out had surfaced a couple of times, but Chrom never gave in, mostly because he knew that the mercenary had such a thick neck that any attempt to knock him out would only result in a crazy headache.

Still, what wouldn't he give for Frederick's help now…

Something glided over so that its shadow fell upon both Chrom and Gregor. "Hey! You guys need help?" a low, rumbling voice asked. On the brink of passing out, Chrom wasn't so sure which manakete the one above them was, but on this subject Gregor was the unrivaled master. Then again, in Chrom's opinion, the whole title was a rather dubious honor indeed.

"Nowi! Would you kindly lend Gregor a ride, doesn't like sea-water, is cold as desert at night." The mercenary moved his right hand to his left shoulder and shivered in a rather convincing fashion.

Now Chrom, he simply wished that the mercenary was gone from his throat.

The green dragon gave a loud sniff and then said, "Well, at least you don't stink. Grit your teeth, old man!"

"Gregor is not old man… Uh, Nowi, why you showing the teeth — No, not mouth! Told Nowi many times, not use _mouth to pick up! Sharp teeth very unhealthy-_"

Immediately after getting free from Gregor's unintentional choke-hold, Chrom gasped for the life-giving air. The sense of relief rushing into his head was so strong that Chrom had trouble keeping his senses together. For a few seconds, his eyes crisscrossed.

Some time after the flapping of Nowi's wings had faded away along with Gregor's objections, Chrom started to wonder whether the mercenary had truly deserved his fate. After all, the man was a very empathetic fellow and had served well during his time in the Shepherds.

Chrom touched his aching neck, giving it a few rubs while keeping afloat with his second arm. His lungs and neck flared up, causing him to grimace. _Well, maybe he did deserve that fate, _Chrom thought with no small amount of bitterness. He wondered whether the whole underwater scene would leave a permanent mark on his neckline.

_Sumia would love that._ Though by love Chrom meant that Sumia would try to find the culprit and rip him to pieces.

Water splashed nearby, and Chrom turned to look at the figure approaching from the direction of the flaming wreckage. He marveled at the destruction, then pushed it away from his thoughts and focused on the person in front. On Lucina.

"Father." The word that escaped her lips was nothing more than a whisper, yet it radiated relief all the same. But her eyes still darted left and right, seeking something. "Please tell me that you have seen Morgan."

The cold wave of doubt and despair made Chrom's mind dull for a single moment. The last moment he had seen Morgan was with her father, on top of the 'Emmeryn'.

He looked at the ship's blasted remains. _Didn't they make it out in time? But they should've..._

Near the oily waters of the wreckage, the surface rippled as if hit by a pebble. Then there was another ripple. And a third.

Gush of water burst up along with a purple haired head.

Lucina's exclamation was both full of relief and delight. Chrom allowed himself a smile before spurting towards the young tactician.

But then Morgan heaved another figure to the surface, this one slumped and still. The dangerous flames dancing on the drifting oil puddles lit his purple hair and pale features.

"Someone… Someone, help..." Morgan cried out, continuing her efforts till wet coughing drowned her attempts to shout.

Chrom sped his pace and was first to reach them both. "Your mother's here," he said, gripping Morgan's shoulder firmly.

"But… father, he is…" Morgan spluttered in tears, unable to form a coherent thought. Chrom turned to a look at the tactician.

That's when Chrom first noticed the blood, dripping and forming wet patches all across Robin's neck. He carefully turned Robin's head to get a better look.

And barely did he hold in a cry of despair. S_omething_ had hit the head, wounding it so deep that the skull was fractured. It was not a clean wound, nor a lucky one.

No. It was the deadly sort.

Chrom could not dare to hope, but his lips still formed the words so necessary to them now: _**"LISSA, LIBRA! GET HERE, NOW!"**_

As the light of the burning ships smoldered all across the horizon, and as Chrom waited for the help that could hardly be called adequate, he felt the powerlessness choking him once again, this time much worse than Gregor's death-grip had ever been.


	25. Chapter 25

**Everlasting Bonds: Wings of Despair**

_Changing priorities_

After quickly changing into dry attires with Morgan, Lucina hurried - as fast as her light steps would let her, the wounded needed their rest - to the door so heavily populated, it obstructed all the movement in the lantern-lit corridor. Frederick was gently nudging the people clogging the passageway to move; his voice was curiously quiet as he swam through the tight-faced crowd.

"Make way for medical supplies," he said, pushing Sully and Virion apart by their shoulders so that Lissa, stuck behind the two with her curious menagerie of items, could pass through. There were clean towels, topped by a single fire tome and a small, crude wooden box. On her right hand, she carried a steel bucket filled almost to the brim with water, adding to the load and probably making it very taxing on her arm. But that seemed to be the least of Lissa's worries; after the opening came, she dashed ahead of the nervous crowd as if beset by lice and, after some carefully calculated acrobatics with her hands, disappeared into the cabin where the wounded tactician lay.

Thankful that her side of the corridor was not the one crowded to oblivion, Lucina snuck to where her father - still in his wet battle-garments - leaned slumped against the wall. Sumia was accompanying him, wearing dry clothes. Of course, such was to be expected from a pegasus rider; having wet clothes would have meant that her mount had been shot down.

_Fortune in misfortune, _Lucina pondered, steering her still shocked daughter to sit down near Chrom.

Started by the pitiful sight collapsing right next to him, the crown prince raised his head, eyes blinking. Then, at least for a while, a sharp focus returned to his features. "Morgan, Lucina," he said, nodding to each. Lucina was surprised by the levelness of his voice, though there was a slight dullness to it, like a quarterstaff being ground against a whetstone. The practice would make them both useless in the long run.

She studied the Shepherds crowding the other side of the dim passageway. The lack of strong light-sources gave her no indication of their state, but the stirring in the group did; the stirring, and the insistent - if quiet – murmuring. Words built upon other words to bring about a worried atmosphere.

To Lucina, it felt like they were waiting for the death to come take its due again, and it unnerved her.

It unnerved her, because she had come to the conclusion that the existence of the tactician was essential to both Chrom and Morgan, not to mention the problem rising from the lack of tactical support, which would impact everybody, the children included. It rattled her, because she couldn't truly _know_ whether the man was the same that had killed her father.

Robin was Validar's son. He'd admitted - nay, _told - _that he was a man from that twisted lineage. But his act and genuine worry towards Morgan, and most importantly in this case, towards Chrom, made the second-guessing and resolution mix inside Lucina's innards, producing bile of the worst sort; _doubt_.

She had thought she was done with it, having decided to let the tactician be a father to Morgan. But the possible convenience of his death, and how soon it would arrive…

She loathed herself for even thinking about that.

Feeling tired, Lucina sat down near Morgan and wrapped her left hand around the wool shawl she had thrown about the girl's shoulders. Lambent light of the lanterns emphasized Morgan's sorrow; her figure seemed diminished, even frail, as she leaned against her own shoulder.

Lucina tugged gently at her shoulder, and Morgan followed her promptings, deliberately setting herself against Lucina's side. She buried her blank gaze within and kept still.

As time passed on, the only thing that kept informing Lucina about whether her daughter had already fallen asleep was the occasional tremor traveling Morgan's otherwise motionless body.

The lanterns started burning out one by one. The Shepherd crowd had scattered except for the few people still leaning on the walls. Most of them were already asleep. Lucina couldn't fault them for that; the battle had been hard, sapping away even the last remnants of their strength.

But Lucina was kept awake by the dilemma raging inside her very soul, by thoughts that would not leave her in peace.

The voices behind the door grew suddenly agitated. Her aunt's voice, unclear in its high-pitched glory, conveyed through only raw emotion.

Fear.

A couple of low murmurs snuck past Lissa's frantic yelling, reaching where Lucina sat waiting for news about either death arriving, or its grip yielding. She feared the moment of decision that would have to follow the latter.

The moment when she would have to decide her final stance concerning the tactician.

The discomforting shouting quieted down, but small clanging of metal happened all across the passageway as keenest of the Shepherds woke up, disturbed by the racket.

But the silence in the tactician's room provided no course of action, and so their figures relaxed, backs against the walls again.

Morgan's head finally slid down and ended up on Lucina's lap.

The resulting shifting sound shot Chrom's head up in alarm, but as Lucina wondered why her father had not been woken up by the racket, the crown prince took in the surroundings and slowly collapsed back, against the wall. An audible sigh escaped his throat as he turned towards Sumia. "Not yet?"

His wife, frozen in the standing position, did not answer. Chrom tried again. "Sumia?"

Not even a squeak. Lucina was starting to have a feeling, one that did not quite match her image of the woman.

Chrom, probably as a result of tiredness more than anything else, rapped Sumia's leg armor thrice. The instant the third knock hit the steel, the pegasus knight pushed herself forward from the wall, brought about her imaginary spear and screamed, "Who goes where?"

As terrifying as her misguided inquiries were, they did not save Sumia from falling prey to her notoriously bad habit.

She tripped.

Quite stupendously too.

Her armor crashed against the wooden floor, creating a ringing cacophony that resounded inside Lucina's eardrums. Yet no groans arose from the point of impact.

_I guess she has built quite a bit of pain tolerance during all these years, _Lucina thought. She lifted her left hand from Morgan's ear, and the girl rose, moving her drowsy face to look at the right and left sides of the corridor as if seeking for something. Whatever it was, after seeing her grandmother lying face-down on the ground and Chrom kneeling at her side, Morgan laid her head down again without so much as a peep.

It wasn't many minutes after that the door holding the secrets about Robin's well-being captive opened inward, the light pouring from the inside revealing the tired shape of fair-haired priest.

A big, uncomfortably bulky piece rose up Lucina's throat as she took her long-sleeved shirt, leaving it under Morgan's head. As she did so, glancing at her daughter's face, her movements grew slower till she found herself thinking.

Most of Morgan's features drowned into the shadowy umbra, being lit only by a single light source. Her eyes were shut, lids tightly pressed down, and lips pursed together as if her body were in pain.

She said no words, gave no implications to her pain, but Lucina knew what lay behind the thin veil that lay between dreams and reality - nightmares, that's what.

She thought of waking Morgan up, but decided against it. What if the news were bad?

Lucina rose and hurried to Libra - her father was already talking to the priest, his face a forceful torrent of bottled emotion.

"…You can't tell us anything more about his situation?"

"I am truly sorry, lord Chrom, but…"

"Libra…" Chrom's voice trailed off into an anxious sigh. "I'm too tired for being lorded over. Give it a rest."

The priest nodded, then glanced at Lucina who had arrived in the middle of their conversation. "Shall I share the news with her?"

"I don't see why not," Lucina's father said, his voice oozing the lack of sleep and eyes closing off for a few seconds at a time.

"Please," Lucina requested.

"Very well, then," Libra complied. "As the princess probably knows, the back of our tactician's skull was shattered, if not wholly broken, leaving us little choice…" He paused suddenly, letting out a tired breath. Lucina noticed how his other hand leaned on the doorframe.

_So tired. But we all are. _The sweet call of sleep began to feel irresistible, yet Lucina knew she had to hear this to the end.

Libra continued, "We _had no _choice. Before we could mend his skull, the small fragments of bone had to be removed from inside. As you can see, not the easiest of operations, and one normally avoided at all costs. However, had he been left with those shards, Robin would've died before break of day."

"And his situation now? Is he…?"

Libra took his hand off the doorway, propping himself straight. "His situation is not stable," he said, "The skull was mended, yet our tactician lingers halfway between life and death."

There was no conclusion to be had. None.

Yet Lucina could notice one curious thing about herself. Regardless her previous struggle with the tactician's impending death, her heart felt elated at the prospect of his survival - however small it really was.

And she could not chide herself for it. Not with Morgan in the balance.

She wondered about these things as Chrom voiced a question. "Anything else we should know?"

Libra gave it thought before answering. "Well... He will need a healer to his side at all times, at least until we can deem his condition stable enough."

"See to it," Chrom answered. He cocked his head softly, as if to ask whether the priest had something else to say. ButLibra shook his head slowly, and with that, Chrom walked to Sumia - now prodded against the wall - and shared the news. The two then went through the waiting Shepherds one by one, sharing to them Robin's present condition and then sending them for their beds.

Lucina watched them go, and then turned back to look at the room that lay past Libra. She saw the tactician, resting against his side in nothing but his undergarments, and her aunt at his bedside, using wet towels to wipe the body.

She felt pity stir inside her own being.

Though she couldn't say for sure what happened during that moment, the sight was imprinted to her mind, leaving an impression that would probably never leave.

What Lucina could leave, however, was the situation, and she did so, only stopping to pick Morgan up in her trained arms before walking down the dead corridor, hoping to reach their cabin before the girl would wake up. She heard the groaning of a door from behind, and then a dull *_thud*_ as it shut. Silence arrived, only to be broken by Lucina's steps as she walked to the door of their room.

The closed cabin door posed little problem, as Lucina simply shifted Morgan's weight to her knee and pulled it open. Then she snuck into the dark cabin and laid Morgan upon her bunk, thinking of the muffled sound of the door closing, and hoping it wasn't a sign of things to come.

After covering her daughter with a coarse blanket, Lucina - fully clothed - set herself upon her own bed, and fell asleep almost instantly.


	26. Chapter 26

**Everlasting Bonds: Wings of Despair**

_The Unrivaled Burden_

In stark contrast to yesterday's carnage, today's sky shone blue.

It was midday. A strange silence prevailed on-deck, as few souls dared to walk upon it. The wounded were still in grips of exhaustion, after all.

So it was no wonder then, that Severa found herself alone on the bow of their ship, anxiously tapping the wooden deck with her foot. As far as she could register, it was the only sound within a reasonable distance. There were of course still seagulls screeching around and waves splashing against the ship's adamant front as it split the massive expanse of waters, but those sounds couldn't reach the depths of her mind.

Severa flipped the dagger she held so that its other side faced upwards. Upon its leaden grey surface were letters, meticulously carved with primitive means a long time ago.

She was mindful of not letting out a sigh, like a certain person was in habit of doing. Instead, she swore an oath, and quickly muttered the named carved within the iron.

"_Owain."_

Her only named blade, called so after the boy who had stuck equipment with names that would make even lifeless stones blush. Although now that boy was a grown man, one that blamed himself for his father's death.

"That's what I read, too."

A flick of the wrist, and the dagger spun into its rightful place inside her sleeve. "Mo-Morgan?!" Severa exclaimed, her voice shaking, "Don't sneak up on me like that! I could have gutted you, you… daft furball!" And that's exactly what Morgan looked like - at least in Severa's opinion - since her bed hair curled her face like snakes in a pit. She also wore a somewhat unbalanced smile, though there was a clear glitter of intelligence in her eyes.

"I was mindful of distance, Sev," she said, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly while avoiding Severa's stare.

At any other time, Severa would have asked about such an awkward act, but now she simply wished to be. Thus, she backed off to the railing and laid her elbows on it, leaning backwards. Perhaps a bit too leisurely of a position, and one easily misunderstood for an attempt to create a sense of control over oneself. But Severa cared not.

Morgan, however, stood where she was, straightening and gripping her fingers in a manner much reminiscent of how one would wrap her hand around a sword. Then she glanced towards Severa's direction and stopped, flashing a rueful smile. An apology perhaps, especially since it faded away so fast.

Morgan's nervous mannerisms sent light quivers across Severa's arms, much like how spell-crafted lightning would discharge upon touching water. She contested within herself whether to ask the question that Morgan's fidgety actions posed, but the girl spoke first, blurting out the words as if they were acid. "I visited my father, Sev."

Severa perked her ears, not because she felt obliged to do so, but because she felt guilty; she had retired to her room immediately after the battle, while her parents, as tired as they were, had waited upon news of the tactician's condition.

One more case in which Cordelia's superiority in comparison to her daughter was clear for anyone to see.

Morgan probably misunderstood Severa's gritted teeth, as she flashed another sadness-laden smile. "He's not dead," she said, and then corrected, "Not yet, anyway. But the healer said something about…"

Morgan's mouth shut abruptly, lips keeping the information sealed as she gave Severa a squinted look. The young woman had no idea what that was about, but before she managed to ask, Morgan laid her eyes down and spoke. "I'm sorry. I really don't want to bother you with these things." The glimpse Severa caught on Morgan's eyes showed nightmarish resign.

And she understood; her new friend did not want to be a burden to others. A fear Severa was very familiar with.

And she would absolutely refuse to let Morgan carry her burdens by herself.

"Out with it, Morgan," she said, trying to get as much pure intimidation into her voice as she could, all in the name of helping her friend of course. A perfect case of ends justifying the means.

Morgan's eyelids batted more than a few times as she lifted her head from its drooping posture. Her teeth ground against each other at the other end of her mouth. She seemed to doubt her ears.

Severa's next command snapped like a whip, but subtler. "Morgan!"

The last word broke Morgan's lethargy, and words flowed forward from her mouth that could not hide a small, but grateful smile.

Yet the flood and weight of her words soon drowned the small gesture. "The healer staying by father's bed told me that even though he may not die, if his mind has been damaged, it cannot be restored." She gave her friend a weak look, almost begging for encouragement.

But Severa could offer none. _"'Gifts of the goddess can only do so much',"_ she quoted, shaking her head as she spoke. She knew the limits that healing posed. Future had taught much; sometimes too much.

Morgan's small mouth quivered and its ends grew closer together. Then slow jerks began to travel her spine, and her breath systematically hastened, till it broke off as an anguished cry.

The dam broke. Twin tears slid down Morgan's cheeks, and this time, she had a legitimate reason to turn her eyes away.

In wars, the border between emotions and reason would constantly get torn apart. Severa had experienced this quite a few times, and every such memory rent her heart to its deepest depths. But she also knew the best medicine for that kind of pain; someone, _anyone_ had to just stand there when your life collapsed upon yourself.

That had been enough for Severa when she held her dead mother's body, while Lucina had only stood there, her presence the sole comfort.

Likewise, Severa's presence would be enough for Morgan, even as she hit the railing with her bare arms and bawled her eyes out.

It would be enough.

A dozen small clouds had already drifted past, before Severa heard her friend take a deep, stabilizing breath.

Then Morgan lifted her head once more, her eyes a small mess of red vein. They conveyed a sense of grim, if frustrated, determination.

_Or perhaps desperation._

Only one way to know.

"Alright, what have you hatched inside that little head of yours?" Severa asked, her question perfectly serious. Decisions made immediately after long bouts of bawling were never good, and in pivotal moments of life, such choices could even ruin others.

The girl stood silent, staring at her friend. Then, as if still in throngs of emotion, she slowly shook her head and voiced her thoughts, one word at a time: _"There is no one else, is there, grandfather…?"_

Her words forced questions upon Severa's mind. _'No one else'? Is she referring to her father_? She jabbed the deck with her foot again, trying to decide what to do.

Then she decided that pondering would not give her the answers she sought.

"What do you mean, 'no one else'? Do you worry that we cannot war in Valm, now that your old man is out of the game?"

"No."

"Then what is it?!" Severa's words dripped with venom that anxiousness always brought with it. She had not meant to burst like that, but there were things at stake here, and they were much more valuable than the fate of one or two kingdoms.

"This morning, grandfather came to my room to ask me something." Morgan's eyes shifted from Severa's, and turned towards the land that lay far ahead, not yet in sight. "It wasn't a difficult one to answer, but there was another one hidden just below the surface."

"And the questions were...?"

"Well…" Morgan shuffled to get her bearings, and then turned her tear-exhausted eyes back to Severa. "It was simply an inquiry on how far along my studies of strategy were."

Sure, that sounded simple. Grandfather checking on her granddaughter's studies, whatever could be hidden there?

There was an answer to be had, and upon realizing it, Severa turned as grim as the future she hailed from. There was no responsibility like what Chrom was asking for Morgan to take.

Morgan's low voice pierced Severa's ears like an arrow, nailing her doubts and bringing her about to spit across the railing.

"But the question he intended to ask was-"

"-_**'can you become our tactician, Morgan?'"**_


	27. Chapter 27

**Everlasting Bonds: Wings of Despair**

_The Flame of Rebellion_

After nine long days, their scouts spotted land. Though the Shepherds did not explode dancing with unrestrained joy, a certain sense of relief still washed over them. The sea-travelling part of their journey would finally be over.

Their fleet trailed the shore till it found a port, and it anchored itself at a comfortable distance, waiting for the tactician's orders. Those came, but only the Shepherds knew the person who now held the reins of the army. Though there were rumors, soldiers were not ready to believe that the tactician had a daughter, let alone one of Morgan's age.

And by logic, they should have been right. It was no wonder the Shepherds couldn't share the information with the main army.

* * *

Chrom shook his head against the newly risen biting wind that attempted to seep beneath his clothing. His metallic shoulder pad pressed against his marked shoulder, exuding the chill it had drawn from the cold wind that assaulted their deck.

_Still, I'd rather fall asleep cold than have an arrow wound decorating my chest_, Chrom thought.

He dismissed today's goal - the still nameless port that would serve as their first base once the landing part was done away with – from his eyes, turning his attentions to the Shepherds. Each did their own particular thing while preparing for the looming battle. Virion was sifting through his arrows, clicking his tongue whenever he found a good one, while Lon'qu stood far away from the hustle in the center, fully focused on inspecting his blade. Maribelle hammered at Vaike's head with her merciless parasol, and past them, Olivia was trying to pull Henry away from doing even more harm with his casually offensive speech. Her actions seemed to have come too late though, as Inigo had already reeled away from the woman he was talking to, his face now buried beneath a pair of callused palms.

Some of the Shepherds seemed to appreciate casual moments, while others took their preparations very seriously. Yet a single thread combined all of their actions; it was all routine, things that they had done before and hoped to stay alive to experience once more. They gathered strength from safety, resolving to face war's lethal realities.

Chrom found himself wondering what Morgan's routine was, and looked past the people running to and fro, trying to find the familiar purple haired figure._**  
**_

Then he spotted her and wondered why he'd simply not tried looking at the most obvious place first. He began walking towards the bow where Morgan stood, wordlessly facing their next battlefield.

"Any plans?" Chrom asked upon reaching her.

"Some," Morgan answered, "Though their force doesn't seem fit for garrisoning."

"How so?"

Morgan turned, her eyebrows indicating professional curiosity: "Well, they are all mounted. Regular horses, no pegasi, no wyverns. _No archers_." The last two words were followed by a sadistic smirk, but it fell quickly. "It's not a garrisoning force, which should mean that they are simply travelling by. Yet, considering how their forces are spread, I find it hard to believe that they are here by coincidence."

Chrom peered towards the town. Though he couldn't see too clearly, it seemed to be as Morgan had stated - there was enemy cavalry all over the city.

"Perhaps it's an attempt at pacification?" Chrom suggested bitterly. Uttering the concept left a foul taste in his mouth.

Morgan shook her head. "This late? No, they had the whole continent by the time we set sail. This should be something else entirely."

Chrom agreed with her opinion. Morgan had done her studies well.

_So, if they aren't quelling down a rebellion, then what _are_ they doing in a distant port like this? What would lead a force like that here? _Chrom put his hands on the railing's wrought wood, focusing his thoughts; was there something to be had here, an opportunity of sorts perhaps?

The only thing Chrom found out was how much his train of thought was starting to resemble Robin's. He brought his head down, hiding his grimace from Morgan. It wouldn't do for the girl to find out that he had a hard time dealing with Robin's comatose state.

He leaned down for a while, pondering the port's nervous atmosphere.

After a while, Morgan spoke. "Grandfather, what if it isn't an open rebellion? What if they're searching for someone – perhaps a political dissident?"

"Can't see how that would help our situation," Chrom answered from his leaning position.

He quickly hid his emotions as Morgan gazed at his direction, and he offered an insincere smile. Morgan's face darkened slightly – her eyebrows dropped as if in rebellion - before returning to its normally inquisitive state. Even then, her voice held to the grimness. "Such person would know the area's political landscape well enough to present us with firm knowledge of all possible allies, if there are any to be had."

That would surely be of help, but then again, their army would capture the port regardless, so maybe such ponderings were for naught till they could be sure that there was some kind of rebel hiding here. Thinking thus, Chrom shrugged his shoulders, distancing himself from the heavy and oppressive feeling that wouldn't leave his insides be. "So we go there and check the situation. How shall we go about it?"

Morgan laid out a simple plan.

* * *

After the two gatehouses were taken – courtesy of a dozen pegasus knights - it became a simple matter to force the Valmese against the wall and break their will. But even with their fates sealed, the Valmese fought with zeal much alike Grimleal's. They wouldn't simply bend a knee to the invaders.

Morgan stood more than sixty feet above the water level, on the terrace of the port's lighthouse. At the first opportune moment, she had given orders for a certain masked wyvern rider to drop her here, and the man - clearly eager to be rid of her, but unable to deal with her demands - had done so after extracting a promise; Morgan had to stay silent for the flight's duration. As he'd yanked the girl to his saddle, the man had grumbled about his wyvern not being one for much noise. After seeing its black body lurch in the air and swoop towards the battlefield, Morgan had formed her own suspicions on the matter.

Chrom had essentially forbidden her to take part in the battle, arguing that she could participate once her grasp on the tactical side of things got better. 'One shouldn't assume himself immediately able of doing two things at the same time', he'd said. It was reasonable enough that Morgan had obeyed, though she _had_ taken the liberty of moving herself to a place that had a better view.

Fighting was mostly over now, with only a couple of small skirmishes here and there. Morgan turned to walk down a set of old and dusty stone stairs, planning to welcome her grandfather back from the battlefield, and then immediately claim nausea and withdraw to her quarters.

She hopped off the final step and approached the door leading outside. Its hinges creaked from the lack of oiling as Morgan pushed her shoulder against it. The bulky frame proved something of a challenge, but as the door's movement gathered momentum, the act of pushing became easier, till finally it was fully open. Morgan slipped outside, closing the door as she went.

Outside, she walked down to the piers and followed them to where a bigger bulk of their troops stood, guarding the ships already anchored in port. The force Chrom commandeered in this town wasn't the whole of their army; such a force would have served no purpose here. Instead, their fighting strength was mostly comprised of the Shepherds, with additional men added to the mix. The combined forces numbered at about two hundred heads.

Irregular trickle of soldiers began pouring to the harbor. Most of them would return to the ships and later relocate to the war camp that would rise outside the town, while Frederick would probably stay on-site, assessing any damages caused by the rampant fighting and then organize the Shepherds to drag the dead enemies outside the town walls for burning.

While walking, Morgan saw three soldiers approach from between the houses, one man carried between the other two. His side was bloodied, though not slick with blood, and his face showed signs of exhaustion, probably because he'd lost much blood.

_He's lucky to be able to walk, even with his friends' help_, Morgan thought. She heard as one of the soldiers mentioned the battle, and saw how the wounded person burst out laughing. His merrymaking quickly turned into a grunt and then another, till he began breathing fast and heavy. The pain that had ensued wasn't probably a laughing matter.

The wounded man's friends moved him past Morgan, barely giving the young tactician any notice. She didn't mind, and instead turned to scrutinize the approaching soldiers for any familiar individuals.

The crowd wasn't so thick her eyes couldn't clearly recognize the people, so she quickly noticed Chrom waving his muscular arm slowly to the side. As he saw Morgan had seen him, Chrom stepped forward and indicated that his companion should follow. She was a long-haired woman in a brown garb, owning a pair of keen eyes that seemed like they could pierce stone. Her steps followed Chrom's pattern, nothing indicating that something was amiss. Confident walk seemed to come to her as easily as breathing.

The first image popping to Morgan's mind was that of her mother Lucina. The impression was so strong that the girl blinked her eyes, but because she found it hard to connect her mother to this outlandish stranger, she let go of the thought and greeted her grandfather with a forced a smile.

"You're back early," Morgan said.

Chrom nodded to his companion. "I found someone interesting," he said, gesturing the woman forward. She came forth, fixing her eyes upon Morgan's short stature.

Her sudden but graceful bow surprised the girl; it didn't go so deep that it appeared self-depreciative, yet the gesture still conveyed respect. Upon realizing that, Morgan also bent her head, hoping to avoid offending the other person with her lack of proper etiquette, or whatever it was that passed for manners in this foreign land.

When she lifted her head, Morgan found the woman's lips tugging upwards. "Purple hair, sharp eyes… I assume you are the famous Ylissean tactician then?"

Morgan didn't quite know how to react to the woman's words, and so the first words that came out of her mouth weren't her best choice. "Not until recently." The woman's eyebrows fell and Morgan found herself regretting the blunt answer she gave.

A grimace flashed upon Chrom's face. "Unfortunately, that is the case. Morgan here isn't our main tactician, but she _is_ his daughter. Hence the obnoxious hair."

Morgan considered sticking out her tongue at her grandfather, but decided against it. Overfamiliarity in a conversation with a stranger wouldn't bring good results in.

She did wonder why her grandfather had brought the woman to her.

"There is a great deal of familiarity between you two," the woman said.

_This one isn't a dull one_, Morgan decided there and then. She would have to watch her words and gestures around her.

"I would assume the tactician's family is close to house Ylisse. As such, my request for help is as much for you as it is for lord Chrom." The woman slammed her palms down to her knees, and this time, her bow signified an earnest request. "I beg of you, help us free from the tyrant's oppression."

Her bow kept going on so long it made Morgan uncomfortable. She glanced at Chrom, and his furrowed expression told her he'd received the same kind of treatment.

"I... I assure you that my grandfather will do everything in his power to do just that," Morgan said.

It wasn't until the woman rose that she realized what she'd said wrong. "Who would that person be?" the woman asked, surprised. "I thought lord Chrom was the one leading this war party?"

"Eh… That is… I…"

The wrinkles on the woman's brows drew back, and she relaxed. "I assure you I meant no harm with my questions. I apologize for making you feel uncomfortable."

"No, that is not it…" Morgan said, her voice trailing off. She couldn't possibly reveal it, could she? The woman wouldn't believe it anyway.

Apparently Chrom was of the same mind, as he quickly intervened. "Morgan, this is Say'ri, our political dissident. Say'ri, this is Morgan, daughter of my friend, and our present tactician. I hope you'll meet her father sometime soon, but at the moment... well, all I can say is that he's busy."

"I understand. And the pleasure would be mine, if I ever got to meet him." Small smile creased Say'ri's lips as she said that.

Listening in on the conversation, Morgan felt her insides lurch. The cold feeling of desperation rose and roared frustration inside.

She would have to get out of here before they would start talking about Father.

"I apologize, gr-", she said, quickly stopping before she could say _grandfather_. It was already established that she had to be careful when using the term around Say'ri, so instead, she caught Chrom's attention by coughing. Then she launched her barrage of excuses. "I'm not feeling well, must be all this blood that's getting to me. I would like to withdraw to my quarters. If mother asks for me... tell her she'll find me there."

Chrom raised his eyebrows, and then immediately lowered them in quick succession. But he gave the permission. "Alright. I'll take care of the rest here. Go rest yourself."

"Will do."

Morgan bowed to Say'ri – it seemed like the right thing to do – and turned, leaving for her cabin. Behind her, she heard Say'ri speak to Chrom. "Is she truly alright? The girl appeared so young…"

Morgan couldn't make out Chrom's answer; he'd muttered it.

She turned left, then right, stepping heavily on the thick boarding ramp. For some reason the feeling of nine days past still laid inside her, all that fear, suffering and anguish. It denied any and all respite.

Morgan brought her eyes upon a formation of pegasus knights. They swooped by twice before finally landing onto the town's cobblestone streets. Each one took off their helmet, and the one in lead, a red haired beauty, stepped forward to Chrom, requesting his attention.

Of course, by now, Morgan knew that it was Cordelia, Severa's mother.

Thinking about parents brought in mind her own, and she shivered.

A sudden idea flashed in her head, and though it pained her, she heeded it, walking into the ship and along the corridor where her father's room lay. After a few dozen slow steps, Morgan reached the door and opened it, not bothering to knock. She had been given the permission to visit here anytime.

The candles were so dim that the only light in the room had shades of darkness to it. The air felt stifled and unhealthy, even with the smell of herbs and antiseptic. Guess the healers always kept their supplies at hand.

She walked past her great-aunt's stretched body, slumped on a uncomfortable-looking chair. She was snoring, though not loud. Even in her sleep, Lissa seemed to mind her patients. She was such a gentle soul.

Then Morgan reached her father's bed.

Robin's face seemed gentle and soft, though the pale candle-light did his appearance no favors. Still, his features weren't greased by sweat anymore and he seemed to sleep peacefully, as if there were no worry in the world.

_But it isn't so. And it won't be, if you won't ever wake up. Father, please… Come back to us._

She stood there a while, uttering silent prayers to each and every god and goddess she knew. All except one. She knew well enough to not utter that name. But her father seemed to take his sweet time rising up, and so Morgan took a chair, seating herself upon it.

After all that praying, all she could do was to wait.


	28. Chapter 28

**Off-topic: Well, dang. This took a lot of effort, didn't it. Man, I am really surprised how fast I got this written(fast being subjective).**

**Please enjoy this while I go to do some planning for the next chapter. It will be... interesting indeed.**

**That is not to say that this won't be. I think... I hope...**

**Eh, I am kidding. I hope you enjoy this one.**

**EDIT: I'm really sorry for accidentally updating a wrong file. Take this chapter as an apology... Yes, that was a joke. Yes, it was a bad one. Yes, you should just be reading the chapter already. Oh, and enjoy. :D**

* * *

**Everlasting Bonds: Wings of Despair**

_When First Impressions Betray_

The day was approaching its end when Lucina opened the door to the tactician's cabin.

The first thing she noted was the recently changed candles, and how their light fell on two human shapes. The first one snapped up from her dangerous forward-position, brushing her hair aside to see who had come in. Then she fell back against her chair, pressing her weight against it.

"Mom," Morgan said. Lucina let go of the tension that had built up. Her daughter had not disappeared anywhere; she had just wanted to see her father. Admittedly, she must have been here for quite a while, judging from how tired her eyes seemed.

Lucina wasn't content with that. especially since this was Morgan's third night in a row without a proper sleep. "Morgan, you need rest," she said firmly, "I wish not to see you walking around like a half-dead person."

Her daughter's lips ground together a few times before she glanced to where Robin lay. "In the end, he never woke up…" Morgan said solemnly. Then she turned to meet Lucina's eyes, her face full of concern. "If I go rest, will you look after Father?"

"Of course," Lucina promised, then glancing around. "At least until aunt Lissa comes back. Where is she now, anyway?"

"Trying to find Lon'qu, I suspect. She only told me to watch Father for a while," Morgan answered. She moved her hand to the back of her chair and lifted herself up unsteadily. Her feet quickly assumed their new-found responsibilities. "She just left too. I think it is safe to assume she won't be back for a while."

Lucina sighed. "I guess even aunt has things to do at times." Then she smiled and gestured at Morgan as if she were shooing her away. "Off to sleep with you."

Morgan's solemn features softened as she giggled. "You sound like Father when you do that."

"I do not."

"Do too."

"Stop talking in your sleep."

Morgan huffed. "Fi—ine." She walked past Lucina, flashing her mother a final, weak smile from the door before removing herself from the room.

After Morgan's steps ceased from echoing in the corridor, Lucina grabbed the sole chair in the room, moving it to the corner opposite from the table. Careful to not make much noise, she put the chair down again, only a few inches from the wooden wall. She sat on it, finding the chair far more luxurious than the hard sand and forest beds ever were.

Then she began waiting.

As time passed, her perception of it seemed to dull to a bare minimum. She found her thoughts drifting off to next patrol shift, which she would share with her sister Cynthia. It would probably become another horrible trip on their mother's pegasus, as they would traverse the night sky and hope neither one would fall and break their necks.

Then there was the planned shopping trip with Sumia, something Lucina looked eagerly forward to. She had loads of ideas for attires, both for her mother and father. The gifts for the latter would surely be the most pleasant surprise.

Lucina's thoughts moved to her father's responsibilities, both in handling this war and averting the catastrophic future looming ahead. It must have felt horrible to have to do all of it without the tactician that he had learned to trust, the man that now lay so deeply comatose he hardly even breathed. Robin's calm respiration was like a newborn babe's, revealed only by the slow, rhythmic movements of his chest, as it rose and fell like the dark waves of the future's sea.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. In fact, the man appeared almost _too_ peaceful.

And then his chest stopped moving up and down.

On pure reflex, Lucina bolted up from her chair and dashed to the man's side. She put her hand down to the man's neck, her fingers struggling to find the familiar pulse of a beating heart.

_There! _It was faint and relaxed, but Robin's heart beat still. Lucina moved her hand to his face, near the mouth, so she could feel if the man were really breathing. No reaction. What was this?

Pure horror started to race down Lucina's arms. Her mind began to scramble about like a panicked horse. A scream for help was already on its way, forcing its way upwards from what appeared to be her paralyzed lungs.

Just as her raw fear was about to unleash itself as a request for help, Robin inhaled, fluttering his eyes open. For a moment they had no focus, but then his eyes fixed upon Lucina. His question came after a profound moment of silence.

"Where… am I?"

Lucina breathed deep, attempting to calm down her walloping heart. "This is a troop transport ship. Cherche moved you here after Morgan fished you out of the water. You were badly wounded."

Robin's eyes trailed away from Lucina and across the room. His weak smile turned into abrupt confusion. "Battle…? Erm, this may sound somewhat foolish, but... who are you?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You see, I don't think I… remember anything."

Lucina froze into a statue, unable to even blink. Her mouth was the only thing that could move, though the attempt to do so felt heavy and arduous. "I… will be back soon… Please don't move around too much," she said. She turned on her heels and rushed to door, opening it and disappearing into the dim passageway beyond.

* * *

Chrom was about to get ready for sleep when someone knocked on his door. He stopped, holding his shoulder pad in one hand, and looked towards the doorway. "Yes?"

"Father, it is I. Something urgent has come up."

Chrom moved to the door, propping off the latch and drawing the door open. His daughter stood outside, looking slightly too bewildered.

"Lucina?" Chrom asked.

His daughter nodded courteously, acknowledging her intrusion. Even in her state, Lucina still seemed to mind her manners.

"Robin is awake—"

Chrom almost dropped his shoulder pad in shock and pushed past Lucina, attempting run down the corridor when the end of his daughter's sentence reached him, sinking in.

"—but not in full control of his faculties, it seems. I am sorry."

Chrom turned aghast, and saw his daughter looking down. He himself did not know what kind of reaction to muster. It all felt so surreal.

He tried to ask about Robin, but wasn't sure if he wanted to know.

In the end, he stayed silent as began walking down the corridor, his daughter following soon after.

* * *

They pushed open the door and stepped into the nicely lit room. Candle-flames shifted irregularly, painting shades onto walls. Small and weak reflections, like the tactician was now.

Though Lucina was surprised to see another person in the room, clad in the robes of a Plegian mage. A glass of water passed from Robin to him, and the man put in onto table. Then he turned to Chrom and Lucina.

"Hey there," he greeted. "I heard him requesting for a cup of water, so I brought a poisoned one." Robin's eyes shot open, and he immediately stuck a finger in his own mouth, trying to force himself to vomit. Henry looked at him, eyes lowered and drawn back. It came as a surprise to Lucina how offended the man could appear. "Does nobody here appreciate a good joke?" he asked, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling like a genuinely crazy person.

"It'd better not be poisoned," Chrom growled, walking past the mage and looking at Robin. The tactician did not seem to notice him, continuing instead with his obnoxious attempt to vomit.

"It was _a joke_! You Ylisseans are such brutes when it comes to the fine art of grim jests," Henry mumbled.

Hearing that, Robin lowered his finger, frowning. Lucina took this moment to approach them, gauging her father's reactions. His face revealed little information as he looked at Robin. It was like Chrom kept everything hidden on purpose.

Lucina felt uncomfortable as this dawned upon her. Whatever Chrom's thoughts were at the moment, they would not bode well for anyone, including the man himself.

As the situation appeared to reach some kind of stalemate, and as the tactician somehow still appeared to not notice Chrom, the passageway drummed. A single pair of soft steps ran past, then back. Someone knocked on the door.

"Gods, who is it now?" Chrom grumbled. Lucina moved to the door and opened it.

It was Olivia, the Feroxi dancer Lucina had talked to a few times. The woman was holding her hands together nervously, but eased up as she saw Lucina. "I'm sorry, um... I was looking for that Plegian blood mage. Male, devilishly fake smile?"

"It is not fake!" Henry protested from the room.

"Ah, found him! I'm sorry for any trouble he might have caused," Olivia said, then rushed to Henry. She took a firm hold of the man's arm. "Out, now," she said, her words more akin to a request than an order. "Really, they shouldn't let you walk free at all."

"Hey!" Henry protested as Olivia tugged his arm. It was immediately clear which one of them had more strength, with Olivia having trained dancing her whole life while Henry was something of a school kid in adult's skin.

Chrom looked at the show, gaping. "Olivia, were you always this assertive?" he finally asked. Like Lucina, it appeared that Chrom was accustomed to the dancer being meek.

Olivia blushed, half-hiding behind the Plegian man. _"I am not assertive at all…"_

Robin straightened his head, looking at the commotion happening right at his bedside. He sighed aloud. "Wow. This is some crazy group of people you have here. I doubt I want to stay here for too long."

Lucina gasped, but it was Chrom who seemed to take the full brunt of Robin's words; though his other gestures gave no inkling, his eyes blinked so rapidly that there seemed to be an oncoming flood of emotion hiding directly behind the two pools of his soul.

It didn't seem like he would let the flood out anytime soon, however.

"Robin, don't you recognize any of these people?" Chrom asked.

Robin looked at them all, lastly Chrom, and shook his head. "I don't even know who this Robin is." His lips showed deep remorse. _Perhaps he wishes he could be of more help. He is that kind of a person after all. Or __was… Gods!_

The realization seemed to hit them all at the same time. All of the Shepherds had been warned about how - even if he woke up - Robin could have mental damage of some sort. It just hadn't felt real at the time, when their only worry had been that the tactician would not survive.

Now, though, their worries were replaced with a new one. The tactician wasn't there anymore. He was as good as dead.

Chrom was the first to react, storming out the room with his shoulder pad. Henry was the second one, gazing once at the tactician before slipping out as Olivia focused upon Robin. Lucina didn't know what to do, but the situation seemed to resolved itself, though in the worst way possible. It was over.

_What about Morgan? What about his daughter?_

Lucina scowled. What was she to do? Snap the tactician awake?

_***slap***_

She lifted her head to see the most unlikely sight on earth; Olivia holding her right hand straight and the tactician holding his cheek.

"You… you lie," she accused, her voice trembling. "Stop acting and… and apologize. To all of them..." Olivia's right hand clenched into a tight, small fist, and she turned around, running towards the door. When she passed Lucina, her face fell, and what seemed to be rampant embarrassment colored her face bright red.

It didn't take her long to disappear.

Lucina stood there, baffled. "Was it all really just an act?"

Robin looked at the wall next to Lucina, rubbing his cheek that was growing redder by the minute. It took a while for him to actually speak, and by then his voice had a solid sound of intelligence to it. "Things not to do as a tactician include…"

"Include…?" Lucina asked.

Robin sighed, waving around the room. "This. Everything that happened. I swear, that sounded a lot better in my head."

Lucina looked around, raising her eyebrows. Then she burst out laughing.

"Oh, you just laugh," Robin grumbled, "I'm the one that has to solve this mess."

The only answer he got was Lucina's fists pounding on the wall.


	29. Chapter 29

**Everlasting Bonds: Wings of Despair**

_To believe, or not to believe_

Before Say'ri stood the largest tent she had seen in the Ylissean camp.

She wouldn't have normally made such a distinction. A tent was a tent, after all. However, after a good few hours of wandering around, she had noticed how the Ylissean army lacked any kind of flashy or ornamented tents whatsoever. What surprised her even more was the fact that even prince Chrom's tent was just another brown thing amidst the sea of leathery shelters, the only difference being its location, as it was situated smack in the middle of the Shepherds' part of the encampment.

The man accompanying Say'ri - a robustly armored soldier who went by the name Frederick - pointed towards the rather sizable entrance. "Milord will be along momentarily," he said.

Say'ri raised the flap and peered in. "You have my gratitude," she said, "I'll wait inside, then."

The brown haired man simply nodded, backing away to the right side of the entrance. _He strikes an impressive figure, _Say'ri thought.

Then she pushed back the entrance flap and walked into the tent.

The interior was only slightly dimmer than the grey daylight had been. Apparently the materials this tent consisted of let most of the light through. _It would remove the need for candles during the day,_ Say'ri admired. _'Tis far-sighted indeed. I wonder if their tactician had any hand in this._

She turned her eyes upon the large table in the middle of the tent. Its surface was segmented into four even parts, suggesting that it could be folded and stored into a much smaller space. There was a map on top of it, decent-sized but somewhat inaccurate, showing the vast continent of Valm and its various points of interest. It came as a surprise to Say'ri that Demon's Ingle, the still active volcano to the west, was labeled upon the map as Duma's tomb. She began to investigate what other interesting tidbits the creator of the map knew.

A small breeze arrived into the tent as its flap was put aside again. Though examining the map, Say'ri took note of two pairs of light legs and two slightly heavier built persons stepping in. She was very aware of such things, having been on the run for two whole months now. Yet it would end today, if she found these people worthy of her trust.

She raised her head from the map to look at them. She immediately recognized prince Chrom and the short lady tactician, but the blue-haired woman who carried her posture with dignity was unknown to her. In comparison, the purple-haired man ruffling Morgan's hair didn't pose such a mystery. Say'ri was almost sure this was the primary tactician of Ylisseans.

"Say'ri," Chrom greeted, turning his unarmored self towards her. The blue-haired woman walked to an arm's distance from him, hand on her belt. "It is good to see that Frederick found you in time. I apologize for announcing a strategic meeting on such a short notice." Chrom glanced at the other man who had only just stopped horribly disfiguring Morgan's hair. "This man here is mostly to blame," Chrom continued.

The black-cloaked man finally raised his eyes from Morgan and Say'ri saw a red bruise on his right cheek, the mark distinctly shaped like a human hand. "It is true. I apologize," he said, eyes twinkling as he smirked.

It wasn't the most heartfelt apology, yet Say'ri couldn't help but smile. "I am hardly offended, sir. The sooner the Valmese are done away with, the better."

"I agree." The man turned to Chrom, gesturing towards Say'ri and himself. "Could you…?"

"Ah, sure. Say'ri, this is Robin, our main tactician and Morgan's father," Chrom said.

Say'ri bowed in greeting. "'Tis a pleasure to meet you in person, sir. Tales of the Ylissean miracle maker have reached even the far islands of Chon'sin."

The tactician answered her bow with one of his own. "Your praise humbles me, princess of Chon'sin."

Say'ri turned to raise her eyebrows at Chrom, who shrugged his shoulders. "I tell him everything. And oftentimes grow to regret it later."

"I'm supposed to be the snarky one. Don't steal my thunder now," Robin quipped, rising up from his bow. He pointed his hand towards the table, his nod proposing a question. "Shall we?"

Chrom walked closer to the table, gesturing Morgan and the other woman to walk closer. Say'ri followed as well, suspecting that their meeting was about to begin in earnest.

"Before we start...," Robin began, looking at Chrom, "Where's Flavia? I understand Basilio taking the meeting off, but her?"

Chrom grimaced. "There are some issues with the Feroxi soldiers starting brawls with our soldiers, so I requested them to take care of the matter."

"Requested, hmm?" Robin said, his smirk widening.

Chrom rolled his eyes. "You try ordering those two, tactical genius."

"No way, that's your job."

Morgan _knocked_ on the wooden table, and the voice echoed about despite the two arguing persons. "Shouldn't we focus on the job at hand?" she asked, glaring at them both. "We don't have endless supply of time, and need to get moving before the Valmese army knows we are here."

Robin rubbed his temples. "No need to get all sassy on us, Morgan. We'll be on schedule." He turned towards Say'ri, tapping the table once with his index finger. "So, Say'ri… How big _is_ their army?"

"That would be seven hundred thousand people, plus the integrated armies of the various states of Valm, bringing the numbers to about one million people at the very least," Say'ri answered.

"_One million?_ Gods," Chrom muttered, eyes moving left and right as he tried to comprehend the numbers in his head.

"Aye. And what will that matter? You Ylisseans have defeated foes greater than yourselves before. It'll be the same this time."

Robin began pacing back and forth inside the tent, giving Say'ri no answer. The rest of them stood silent.

As the man simply continued pacing, Say'ri felt doubt rear its shadowy claws upon her heart. _Is this what they amount to? _Say'ri asked herself._ Was every story just a lie?_

At this rate, Chon'sin wouldn't be free. The states of Valm wouldn't be free.

The Valmese would own them all.

Walhart, that tyrant, would own them all. Just like how he already owned Say'ri's brother.

"Say, Say'ri…" Robin began, having suddenly stopped his pacing, "Why haven't the states of Valm already rallied under the rebellion's flag?"

Say'ri sighed. It wasn't amusing when another person's questions collided with her own thoughts. "'Because my brother has embraced the enemy."

Robin blinked his eyes. "Your brother joined Walhart?"

"Aye."

Robin scratched his chin. "Well, now we know."

He resumed to his pacing.

Say'ri lowered her eyebrows and looked at Chrom. The prince lifted his index finger up, indicating that she should wait. So wait she did.

After thirty or so times of going back and forth the tactician stopped again. "So how do we gain their support? Is there a way?"

_Is that question rhetorical?_

"Say'ri?" Robin asked, looking at her.

"You ask me?" Say'ri asked.

"Yes."

Say'ri exhaled, her mind rebelling against the notion of doing the thinking for the tactician. But she did as requested, going through the possible options.

They could liberate certain key cities from the Valmese control, earning each state's support, one at a time. But that was too inefficient, too slow. Their main force would be upon the Ylisseans in but a moment, and wash over them like a flood of swords and blood. It couldn't be done.

Her mind raced more, faster, as she sensed the expectations inside the room building upon her, pressing down like the weightiest responsibility. She couldn't make any calls. There were too many factors here, and too few pieces to work with.

Yet the _belief_ in Say'ri's ability shone brightly from Robin's eyes, his eyes level and fixed with hers. Curiously, he showed no doubt.

_Belief…_

"There… is a way," Say'ri said slowly, "Though I find it extremely unconventional."

"Do tell," Chrom requested from other side of the table. Morgan nodded eagerly, leaning forward ever so slightly. The woman standing behind them both gazed at Say'ri with her deep blue eyes.

Say'ri cleared her throat. "We, the people of the states of Valm, are united in a single faith; we adhere to the words of the Voice, the priestess of Naga living high up in the leaves of the Mila Tree."

Robin raised his eyebrows. "Now _this _is a surprise."

"How so? I am sure your people have some who worship Naga as well," Say'ri said.

Robin sighed. "That is exactly why I felt it to be so weird," he said, "I thought people to be more diverse in their beliefs."

"Aren't they?" Morgan asked. Everyone in the room shifted their attentions to her, and her words wavered a little. "I mean… We serve Naga, and Plegians slave for Grima. Our Feroxi friends only think those with strength fit for ruling, and apparently, somewhere in Valm, there are also those who would think this Walhart worthy of their worship. It _is _diverse."

"…Haven't thought about it that way," Robin admitted. Then he shook his head. "I'm sorry for derailing our conversation. Back to the Voice, how is she going to be of help?"

"The Valmese have surrounded the Mila Tree with a sizable force to make sure that the states do not rebel," Say'ri answered, forming a circle around an imaginary tree. "Should that threat disappear and should the Voice be made free…"

Robin began to rub his fingers together. "Ah, that already sounds like a plan," he said. "Why did you call this one unconventional, again?"

Say'ri sighed. "For the same reason you were surprised. Men believe differently. They won't all rally behind us if we free her."

"So it is a gamble," Chrom said, grimacing and walking to the tent's entrance.

Say'ri stayed silent for a moment, then nodded. "Aye," she answered quietly. What else was she to do?

Morgan began humming a tune, disrupting the rising silence. Say'ri watched as she brought her fingers to the map, drawing something from city to city, town to town, stopping after a sizable chunk of time. She smirked.

"Oh, great. Another self-satisfied smile," Chrom said from the entrance, sighing in a resign. "So, let's hear it. What's your take on this, Morgan?"

The girl quickly drew the same patterns again before she lifted her head up, her smile slightly unsure now. "I don't suppose you have men of the resistance at your disposal, Say'ri?"

"I might. What for?"

Morgan pursed her lips. "Well, I was thinking about the stuff we began talking about, beliefs and faiths and such. It struck me that we could create such a thing on our own."

Robin snorted. "You wish to create your own religion? What would I be, the father of a goddess?"

"Not a religion, stupid. A belief," Morgan said, grinning. "A belief that_ joining the Ylisseans will bring about a victory._"

This time Robin raised his eyebrows quizzically. "And how would you achieve that? Send every manakete in our army to preach your message?"

It was easy for Say'ri to notice how the tactician couldn't get enough of jabbing at his own daughter, but she had also marked how the woman standing behind Morgan kept continually glancing at their exchanges, smiling ruefully. _There's a subtext here that I am not privy on, isn't there, _Say'ri thought. But this wasn't her business, not like freeing the states of Valm was. She had to let it go.

"Men on horses will have to do," Morgan answered to her father, apparently not noticing Say'ri's melancholy. "We need to send members of the resistance to every town and city declaring that we will free the Voice. After we have done that, those men will be responsible for rousing the people to arms."

"So the part that turns into a gamble is whether armies of the states accompanying the main force will turn and fight for us," Say'ri mused. "We would have the support of the populace regardless."

"And yet there are two problems. We cannot expect all of the populace to simply rise up in arms. Not even half of them. At best, we will have one fifth of their strength backing us up when we need them." Morgan leaned towards the map and drew a route from the coast to the Mila Tree. "And if we do send the men, the Valmese army will know about our plans and try to intercept our forces. So this plan's success depends on how close they are right now. Say'ri?"

Say'ri looked at the map, forming distances and taking into account the terrain around the southern parts of Valm. "Their army is presently split in two. One force is lead by Walhart himself, and resides further into the south, while the other… My brother leads it. It would take him month and a half to reach the Mila Tree. Neither force is close enough to intercept."

Robin scratched his chin again. That seemed odd to Say'ri, as the man had hardly anything in ways of a beard. "Chrom?"

The crown prince nodded. "We'll send those men, and hope that the local populace will find faith in us."

Morgan began tapping the table with her fingers, sending the clear melody of a marching army across the tent.

Fitting, since their army would start moving soon, their goal, the Mila Tree.


	30. Chapter 30

**EDIT: If you read this update for the first time, read this edit last. You'll understand what's going on a lot better that way.**

**Right, so, opinion time is over, and two days early no less. There's a reason for that(no, it isn't because my inbox was flooded, or because you guys kept things uncivil. Always a nice to see :D). I've made my choice.**

**First, some explanations on what kind of messages I received(don't worry guys, no names will be mentioned): generally, there were two sides to this whole thing, those who wanted for me to continue writing chapters as I were, and those who said I should do as I wished. I also had a chat with my other beta-reader, who had his own opinion about this whole thing. So yeah, the opinions were diverse. However...**

**An excellent point was brought up. A couple, actually. First one was that one month is a _very_ long time. There are some people who can't wait that long(and I perfectly understand that. The thing about fanfiction is that oftentimes, ****it holds a promise of a steady stream of content. Not always, but it is a pretty nice feature) Also, a constant stream of updates would make sure I finish my story at some point, instead of possibly giving up on it.**

**As you can see, there are more reasons for continuing as I have done till now than there are for me to start updating on subplot by subplot basis. Now then, we have to address one other thing: EB still has a couple of problems that need to be fixed. So how do I do that?**

**I was thinking for the whole day yesterday(well, sort of, I left my mind to work on the problem while I played Tales of Xillia with my friend :D), and reached a conclusion. Apparently, even though I am averse to heavy outlining(forming an outline of the story as well as heavily influencing some scenes that need to be done), it would be the thing that would not only help me produce my stories on chapter by chapter basis, but also prevent me from having any major problems in this story of mine. This is the solution I came up with, and I'm sticking to it.**

**I will do my best to have the next chapter up in a week. From that on, we should be able to return to the normal schedule.**

**What else was I gonna say...? Erm... Well, first of all, thanks for all the feedback, guys. I am indebted to many ingenious comments that really helped me to solve this issue. I am sure we will continue to have fantastic days with EB, both you you readers and me, as it treks forward slowly but surely.**

**I've also been thinking about upping my writing speed, or at least putting in more effort. Remains to be seen how I do that, but first, I'll need to get back to my schedule.**

**And I think that was all. See you in the next chapter.**

**Xanedis**

**PS: OH, AND NO REVIEWS! :D**

* * *

**This isn't a chapter, but rather, a question for those who read EB. You might want to read this anyway, as it might explain why the next few months might not have any updates.**

**So, lately, I've been thinking about EB's flaws, and how it could be fixed to be a better whole. The thing about EB, you see, is that it is a bit all over the place; there are multiple POVs(and I knew multiple POVs would be bad, but I did it anyway), many subplots between the characters, that kind of stuff. So yeah, it was time for me to fix this problem to get a better direction for EB.**

**And I came to a solution that might not appeal to you guys, so I decided to ask about it. The way I see this whole thing is that it is possible to fix by releasing stuff one substory at a time(for example, the whole Mila Tree part), instead of me updating the story on chapter by chapter basis. The reasoning is this: if I do that, not only will I get the character's motivations, actions, and the general coherency of the substory right(and I'll be able to do a lot more post-fixing as well, meaning that any mistakes in the previous parts of the subplot will be done away with very quickly), but in the long run, I will also be able to make the themes add up better, bringing about a better resolution for the story.**

**Did that make any sense? I hope so :/**

**So, basically, what I am suggesting is that I will write a whole substory(might take a month or two), upload it, and you'll read the whole substory at once(divided into chapters, of course).**

**The inherent problem in this is that this story's popularity will fall. The better part is that the story will surely change for the better. If I had to choose between the two, I'd rather write a better story than gather false popularity.**

**But there is one other factor that I cannot disregard(as much as there is temptation to). That factor is you guys, the readers. I can see some people getting disappointed if I make this move, and some if I do not. So here is what we will do.**

**First of all, DO NOT REVIEW THIS CHAPTER. The worst thing to do would be to artificially increase the count. Instead, PM me your opinion on the matter, and reasons for/against(depending on your opinion). I will try to figure out your general opinion and act upon it. If you want me to do as I see best, I'll do it to the best of my ability. And if you guys just want me to keep updating it chapter by chapter, I'll do it to the best of my ability as well(and try to avoid the pitfalls that might rise).**

**Because honestly, this ain't my decision to make. I am fine either way.**

**This notice will be up for three days, after which I'll EDIT in what the general consensus wants me to do. Remember to check back by then.**

**Aaaand that's about it. Sorry to trouble you guys with this, but I have been balling this idea back and forth for quite a while now. It came up when I finished the sea-battle subplot, and has been plaguing me ever since.**

**So, send me your opinions by PM(if you have any :D)**

**PS: If the terminology isn't correct, take a Finnish-English dictionary and shoot it with a shotgun. I care not. :D**


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